Finally, we all came to a halt when we entered a building of what appeared to be the entrance to some flats. We walked along the hallway, breathing heavily from the running session we just endured a couple of streets down. John took off his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall whilst Sherlock just draped his coat over the bottom on the bannister. So automatically I just assumed that this is where they live.

"Okay, that what ridiculous." John started, still trying to catch his breath as he leaned against the wall, "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan."

At Sherlock's comment, John began to giggle adorably, causing me and Sherlock to laugh too. I was learning more about these boys every second I was with them. They were still complete strangers to me but I was oddly comfortable.

"So, I take it this is where you live?" I finally chirped in, glancing at Sherlock.

"Yeah, it's not much but it's big enough for my work." He told me, his fast breathes coming to an end once he had calmed down. "Why did you follow us?"

"You told me to."

"But you didn't need to follow. We're just complete strangers to you."

"Not complete strangers." I responded, a small smile tugging on my lips. Sherlock plastered a warm smile too, until John decided to speak up.

"Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"Restaurant?" I wondered again. "Hold up -- you both live together, both help each other solve crimes and now you're eating out in restaurants? Is there something I'm missing here?"

"Oh -- no, we're... we're not together." John stammered. Sherlock's tone became more serious and he waved his hand dismissively.

"We're not together. As for the restaurant, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?" John asked. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Oh, just passing the time." He answered, looking at John. "And proving a point."

"What point?"

"You." Sherlock said. I raised my brows, already growing confused again. But I waited, knowing it would be clear to me soon. Sherlock turned towards the ground floor flat. "Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs!"

"Says who?"

"Says the man at the door." Sherlock replied, looking towards the front door. Me and John turned our heads in direction at the front door just as someone knocks on it three times. John glanced back at him in surprise before he walked along the hall to answer the door. Sherlock leaned his head against the wall again, blowing out a breath.

"What's that about?" I asked, leaning against the wall too.

"John uses a cane to walk from an intermittent tremor in his hand from a war wound -- again, a story for another time." He met my eyes and they stayed there for a moment. He obviously wasn't about to go into detail about any of this stuff tonight, despite me running back to his place like a mad woman. But by the look he gave me it meant that it would be for another time and place, and we had a hell of a lot to catch up on.

Just as I heard the front door shut, an older woman came out of her flat below and hurried over to us. "Sherlock, what have you done?" She asked, sounding rather upset and close to tears as she spoke. I instantly become curious and anxious, especially when Sherlock seemed like he didn't know what is wrong either. He seemed so confident until now.

"Mrs Hudson?" He asked, confused about what she was talking about. She nodded her head towards the stairs.

At that, Sherlock turned and hurried up the stairs, me and John following him. Sherlock opened the living room door before making his way inside. I noticed a man with brown hair with hints of light grey mixed with them who looked like he was in his late forties sitting in an armchair, facing the door. Not just that, but there are a load of other police officers who are going through Sherlock's and John's possessions. Sherlock clenched his fists before storming over to the man who had already made himself at home by sitting in his worn-out chair.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock snapped.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." The man sitting in the armchair replied.

"You can't just break into my flat!"

"And you can't withhold evidence." The man pointed out, and I let out a small sigh. Trust Sherlock to do something like this. "And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well, what do you call this then?"

The man glanced around, looking at his officers before he finally looked back at Sherlock innocently. "It's a drugs bust."

My face fell along with a part of my heart. Just the thought of Sherlock getting back into old habits hurt, and I would have thought that after all these years he would have had a little more sense. I turned my head, giving Sherlock a look. He caught my stare but didn't say anything, but by the expression on his face I could tell that he was a little embarrassed and ashamed.

At this, John spoke up, trying to defend the man. He sounded as if the thought of Sherlock being a junkie was ridiculous, but when he noticed how serious Sherlock was acting when he told his friend to be quiet, he finally realised that Sherlock was capable of taking drugs. He seemed a little disappointed in him, too.

"Shut up!" He barked back sharply, turning back to the man on the chair. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." He responded, nodding towards the kitchen.The closed doors to the kitchen slid open to reveal several more officers searching the room, including a dark hair male who I gathered was named Anderson. He turned towards the living room and raises a hand, greeting Sherlock sarcastically.

"Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?!"

"Oh, I volunteered." He replied, venom lacing his voice. He noticed me in the room and suddenly looked at me with his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Non of your business." I answered, the words coming out harsher than I had expected. But I couldn't help it, he just seemed like such an ass, especially when he spoke to Sherlock. I didn't like his attitude. Either they didn't like him because he was more intelligent than them or because Sherlock did something to upset them. Either one could be right. Or both.

"Keep looking, guys." The man in charge ordered, before standing up from the chair and stepping closer to Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

Sherlock let out an irritated groan and began pacing around his living room angrily. "This is childish." He pressed on, even though Sherlock was being rather childish at the moment himself. But I could understand why he was so annoyed; they basically broke in and used a 'drugs bust' as an excuse. I am just standing there, watching these men search through all of the boys things whilst Sherlock complained about it. The man and Sherlock started having a conversation about how they didn't smoke -- or at least, were attempting to give the habit up. But my mind wouldn't allow me a break from thinking about Sherlock and drugs in the past. I just hoped that he was better.

"So let's work together." The man offered, rolling down his sleeve from when he lifted it to show Sherlock his nicotine patch. "We've found Rachel."

I know that from my recent conversation between John and Sherlock that people were being murdered and it was being made to look like a suicide. Jennifer Wilson was one of the unfortunate people to be murdered and after listening carefully to the conversation the individuals in the room exchanged, I discovered that Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.

"No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Anderson joined in again, his irritating and snarky voice making my blood boil. Sherlock turned to face him with an exasperated look plastered on his face.

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." He snapped back, pacing back and forth across the room again.

"Maybe... I don't know, maybe he used Rachel against her some how?" I offered, although it was difficult to come up with suggestions when you didn't know the whole story. John nodded, agreeing with me.

"Yeah." John looked towards Sherlock again, "You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter, like what Ella just said."

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked casually, stopping to face him. John just stared, and I look down towards the floor for a short moment. I've only been reunited with him for about half an hour and already I was so done. I looked back up, and Sherlock was hesitating when he realised everyone in his flat had stopped what they were doing and fell silent. He glanced around the room before looking awkwardly at John.

"Not good?"

John glanced around to the others before turning back to him, "Bit not good, yeah."

I exhaled softly, shoving my hands into my coat pockets as I watched the scene in front of me like a crime show. Sherlock asks John to use his imagination, something to do with what his last words would be. Then suddenly things started to get tense immediately once Sherlock was close to figuring out the puzzle; when it was on the tip of his tongue. And Mrs Hudson reappears a couple of times, bothering Sherlock about a taxi that was waiting for him outside.

"What about your taxi?" She pestered, waiting by the door.

"MRS HUDSON!" He shouted furiously, causing her to hurry her way down the stairs again. I give him a look, but he ignores it. By the look on his face, he had finally figured something out.

"Oh!" He smiled in delight, "Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead! Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him." He explained, doing that pacing thing again. "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

"But how?" The man asked. Sherlock stopped, staring at him.

"Wha...? What do you mean, how? Rachel!" He looks at everyone triumphantly. They all look back at him blankly, trying to figure out what the hell he was going on about. "Don't you see? Rachel!"

Everyone is still looking at him flatly. He laughs in disbelief, about to speak up until I understand what he was finally talking about. I began to think back to all the facts: She planted her phone on the killer, her phone was a smartphone. "Oh!" He looks at me, pleased that someone got it. I smiled back. "Rachel isn't a name. It's a password."

"Yes! Now, on he luggage, there's a label. What's the E-mail address?" He asked, sitting down at the dining table whilst he was on his laptop notebook. John looks at the label and reads out the address for Sherlock. "I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled." He told everyone, getting the Mephone's website up and typing the email address into the username box. "So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and all together now, the password is?"

"Rachel." John finishes, and me and him stand behind Sherlock as he typed.

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?"

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q of the whole street." He practically ordered, earning a quiet laugh from me. Sherlock glanced up at me before typing back on his computer, "We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

We all waited for the screen to load impatiently, and again Mrs Hudson appeared at the top of the stairs, telling us about some taxi driver that was waiting equally as impatiently outside. Sherlock stood up to tell her to go away again, and John takes a seat on the chair. Finally the location had loaded and the map zoomed in on the location of the phone, showing us that it was supposedly... in here.

"What the hell?" I muttered, causing Sherlock to hurry back over. He looked over my shoulder. "It's in here, apparently. Two two one Baker Street."

"How can it be here? How?" Sherlock questioned with confusion and a mixture of disbelief. He would have noticed if the phone was in here. The man in charge told everyone in the room to search for the pink phone, and everyone followed his orders with a click of a finger.

"Maybe it's wrong?" I suggested, mainly to John since Sherlock seemed to be off in his own world, "Sometimes these things can be inaccurate, right?"

"I guess. Maybe we should try it again." John said, clicking a button to start the search again before he turned his head around to look at Sherlock. "You okay?"

"What? yeah, yeah I-I'm fine." He answered. I furrowed my brows at him.

"John decided to search it again."

"Good idea." He replied, heading towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John asked, and I crossed my arms.

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long." He told us, and we frowned as he left the room. I stepped forward, calling after him:

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine." He brushed me off. In all honestly, I thought I'd be catching up with him over tea and biscuits -- not watching as he leaves after only just meeting him again. He seemed so vacant; I was actually surprised by that. I thought he'd show a little more emotion. But I get it, he's working. Someone's life could be at stake. So I nod my head slightly and let him walk off, turning my attention back to the laptop screen.