The next morning, Sherlock and John left early to get the results from the DNA. Sherlock analyzed the data, and he got some answers.

"Well the DNA is similar to Mrs. Carbine's DNA, but not the same. Someone from her family. The outside DNA matches Charles. It looks like a sister." Sherlock said. They headed to the station, and looked through all the files she had. She did have a sister, but she passed the year before. No brothers or parents. No one alive. Sherlock didn't know how it was a relative's DNA.

"Let's confront her. I'm sure I can get her to confess." John said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but followed him anyways. They headed back to the woman's flat, and they all sat in the living room.

"If you don't mind me asking, but can I do a little check on you. Nothing physical. Just answer my questions truthfully and I'll get everything I need." John told her. He sat her on the couch, and he walked around the room. Sherlock kept his eyes on her body movement, and let John talk.

"So I heard you used to have a sister. But she passed away last year. What happened?" John asked. She twiddled her thumbs.

"Burned in a house fire in my childhood home." She told him.

"So no body was recovered, I assume." John said. She agreed.

"The fire was caused by an open flame, am I correct. One from a candle." John asked.

"Yeah. I thought you didn't know how my sister died?" She asked.

John shook his head. "I knew the whole time. I'm just making sure you are telling me the truth. Now be really careful. Because I did a lot of research. I can tell if you are lying, and so can Sherlock." John warned her. John was training in interrogation, so he knew exactly how to go about this.

The woman looked a bit nervous. Her leg started bounce, and she twiddled her thumbs.

"Alright. Do you know who killed your husband?" John asked. She shook her head. Sherlock smiled.

"You're lying. You know exactly who killed him." Sherlock said.

She shook her head. "Why would I kill my husband? I could never!" She quickly defended.

"I never accused you of killing him." John told her. She became quiet, and just sat there. She was pale. John crouched down in front of her, and Sherlock sat next to her.

"I know you didn't kill your husband. You're not clever enough. And the fact that whoever killed Charles is a relative of yours, makes things a lot more complicated. Am I right for thinking that your sister never died?" John asked.

"Of course not!" She exclaimed angrily. John stood back up and let her rant. "Why would my sister fake her death?! That's just extra! The fire was too bad for a body to be recovered! She's dead." She finished. Sherlock patted John on the back.

"Well done. Interrogations are very exciting." Sherlock complimented. John smiled.

"Another thing. I never accused your sister of faking her death." John said. The woman was quiet for a couple moments, but she then started to break down.

"Tell us the truth. The whole truth." John asked of her.

"My sister is alive. She was in some serious money issue with her drug dealer, so she faked her death. I've was helping her out at first, but then she started to take some odd jobs. She became really sought after. And when I heard that my husband was cheating again after what happened last year, I told my sister. She was so mad, that she vowed to kill him. I told her not to, but she still did. I found out right after she left. She swung over to tell me the news. I came to you so it would look like I knew nothing about what happened." The woman admitted.

John nodded. "Do you know where she is right now?" He asked. She shook her head.

"I don't know. I was calling her contacts, but they all said she hadn't visited them today." The woman admitted truthfully.

"Does your sister ever come home smelling like metal?" Sherlock asked. She seemed puzzled, but nodded.

"Yeah. And she has really black dusty gloves that she puts on before she leaves. I always assumed it was so her fingerprints didn't get on anything." She said.

Sherlock and John thanked the woman, and left the flat.

"Her sister is an assassin. I found an old gun permit in one of the rooms, which belonged to her sister before the fire. And the smell of metal would indicated gunpowder." Sherlock finalized.

"Where should we go?" John asked. Sherlock looked around.

"We are looking for a certain warehouse. Luckily I know exactly where it is." Sherlock said. They hailed a cabby, and Sherlock directed him through the traffic.

"The case is on, my dear friend." Sherlock smiled excitedly. Even when they are in pursuit of a self trained, 'dead,' assassin, he still gets excited.

The cabby dropped them off in front of an old warehouse, with rusted sides. The sign said 'Automobile Fix.'

"Why here?" John asked.

"When I looked through the flat, I found a diary. I read through it. It was from the sister, dating back to age 11. She wrote about how her family's automobile shop was closed down, and they lost a lot of money. Naturally, she'd go back since it is secluded and old." Sherlock explained. They entered the building stealthily, and treaded lightly. John handed Sherlock a gun, and they scoped the area. They decided to split up in order to cover more area.

John was almost certain that the warehouse was empty. Not a single sound, not even from Sherlock. He lowered his guard, and that's when he heard a clicking noise from behind. John froze his feet, and looked behind. There was a woman in black clothes, a hood over her head, and a gun pointed to John's head.

"Drop the weapon before you drop." She ordered. John reluctantly dropped the gun, and kicked it over to her. She pulled the bullets out, and stomped on the barrel end, crushing it.

She motioned to a chair to the side. "Bring it to the middle, and sit." She ordered again. John carefully lifted the chair, and followed her orders.

"I suspect you are Sarah Wilks. The supposedly deceased sister of a Mrs. Carbine. Formerly married to Charles Carbine, who was murdered via Cyanide pill. By you." John theorized aloud.

"And who would care. No one knows I'm alive." She said. She pulled her hood back, and revealed a burn scar on the side of her face. "The fire was a bit too hot for my liking. Really damaged my skin." She said, rubbing her face. She walked over to some robes, and tied John to his chair.

"So why kill Charles if your sister wanted him alive?" John asked, trying to make some small talk. He knew it was a matter of time before Sherlock found him.

"He owed me money, but couldn't give it to me. You see I do a lot of things. From ruffing up someone to murder. Even prostitution if I know the bloke... or chick. Either or. Really anything that gets me money and friends. And lets just say my money to friend ratio is through the roof. I could come back to life if I really wanted to, and become rich." She told John.

"Why not come back?" John asked.

"People would ask too many questions, and I'd have too many people to shut up. It's a lot of work for one girl. So I'll stay in the shadows, control trade, kill some people, and have the sex of my life. To be honest, I don't think it could be any better than this." She bragged. John chuckled.

"Anyways, where is your friend? I saw him walking around here. But I've seem to have lost track. Could you tell me where he is?" She asked politely.

"And why would I? I've got nothing to lose." He said. She cocked the gun, and placed it against his forehead.

"You could lose your brains in just a moment. Where is he?" She asked again. John shook his head.

"I'm a soldier. The gun doesn't scare me." He said. He smiled lightly at the woman. John looked past her slightly, and saw the familiar trench coat behind her.

"You know what? Since I'm nice, I'll answer your question." John started. "He's behind you." She quickly turned around, and pointed the gun at Sherlock. He tried to shoot her, but she dodged, and placed the gun back to John's head.

"Drop the gun or he dies." She threatened. Sherlock shook his head.

"I can tell you aren't going to shoot him. I know because I can tell when someone feels nostalgia. It's almost a universal expression between people. I saw the photos of your father from a decade ago. He looks very similar to John. You don't have the guts to kill your father." Sherlock taunted. She looked pissed.

"And who do you think you are, string bean?" She asked.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. And that is my assistant John Watson. We are the most feared detectives of the UK. And I already have an entire police force on their way here as we speak." Sherlock answered her, smirking. Her face dropped.

They all heard a door slam open, and many feet move around. The woman cursed under her breath. In a swift movement, she aimed her gun at John's leg, and shot his femur. She started to bolt as fast as she could to the door. Sherlock took aim, and fired a shot at her ankle. She fell down, and the police stormed the room. While the police rushed to arrest the woman, Sherlock rushed to John, who was bleeding profusely from his leg. Sherlock untied him from the ropes, and stuffed his handkerchief in the wound.

"Hold on John. You're going to be alright." Sherlock assured him. But his voice did not sound very sure. He got Lestrade's attention, and they got an Ambulance to bring them to the nearest hospital.

"I don't think it shot through his artery." Sherlock told the paramedics. John had passed out from the pain and blood lose. When they got to the hospital, they rushed him to the ER, and Sherlock waited for what they would say.

Lestrade came by an hour or two later to check up.

"So what happened?" He asked.

"John is getting surgery right now. He was nearly shot in the artery. Sarah's aim was shaky." Sherlock informed him. Lestrade noticed that he looked more pale than usual. And his face was flushed.

"Are you feeling alright? You're more pale than usual. Was it heroin?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock denied it.

"I'm alright. And no, I've been clean for a couple days now." Sherlock told him casually. The two waited in the waiting room for the doctor to come back out. Donovan ended up joining the two.

"I thought you disliked us." Sherlock stated.

"I dislike you. John is a better man though." She said. An hour later, and the doctor came back out with results. He wore clean scrubs, and mask. Sherlock noticed the slight spray of blood on his feet covers. His hair was sweaty and oily, no doubt from the lamps.

"It was touch and go. He did lose a lot of blood. But we got a transfusion, and sewed up the area. It only scraped against the artery, but did not create a hole anywhere. He's going to be under our care for a week to make sure he heals properly without any blood clots. He should be good after that. The bullet lodged itself in his femur, and we made the decision to keep it there since he would've lost more blood if we tried to remove it. It's safely tucked in the bone, and is actually supporting his leg. If you follow me, you can see him." He motioned for the three to follow him.

When they got to the room, John was still knocked out, and he was connected to a couple of machines.

"You've got five minutes before two have to leave. ER rooms only allow immediate family to stay in the room with a patient." The doctor told them. He closed the door, and left the room.

"He looks so pale." Donovan commented.

"That's what happens when you loose blood, Donovan." Sherlock told her.

"Well at least he's going to be alright. We should head back. We've got a lot of paperwork to do." Lestrade suggested. Both he and Donovan left the Sherlock and John alone in the room. Sherlock placed a chair next to the bed, and sat down. He observed the room for a couple of hours, but everything was boring. Usually he had John to deduce when he was bored, but there was nothing left of John right now. He was asleep, and in a hospital gown, his leg suspended in the air. Sherlock started to think of their bet.

'Who could be the lucky lady? Donovan. She seemed worried, and the two smile towards each other and talk when around. But his eyes never dilate.' He thought.

'Definitely not Molly. He knows she's infatuated with me.' He thought.

'He could be gay. Or bisexual. He's never said bad things about the community. Defended them a couple of times. He did make a fuss when I kissed him. Maybe he was faking it?' Sherlock's mind paused. 'He didn't fake it. But then again he didn't mind after that. Could it be Lestrade? They go out for drinks sometimes. But Lestrade usually brings back women. The only other logical answer is he's lying about liking someone. But he's not because his eyes didn't show it. He does like someone, but who?' He thought. He was having an internal war in his mind, trying to piece together puzzles that didn't fit, then breaking them apart.

He went into his mind palace, and thought about every woman he's been in contact with in the past couple of months. Which were a lot. But they all only lasted one date. It was a new one every time. It could've been someone that rejected him, that he sees often. He did take the bakers daughter out on a date, but she ended it with a slap on his face.

"Why can't I think of anyone?!" Sherlock groaned. John started to move around, and he blearily opened his eyes. Sherlock watched him look around with hazy eyes.

"Where am I?" John asked.

"A Cathedral. Where do you think, John. You're in a hospital." Sherlock said sarcastically."

"How about you enlighten me then, on what the hell happened?" John sassed.

"You were shot in the leg, and nearly in the artery. The bullet is stuck in your femur." Sherlock summed up. That refreshed John's mind a little.

"Oh yeah. Did Lestrade catch her?" He asked.

"Yeah. Him and Donovan have a lot of paperwork to fill out since she's supposed to be dead. I wouldn't be surprised if the wife gets arrested." Sherlock told him.

John looked around, and saw his phone sitting on a table, out of reach.

"Can you hand me the phone?" John asked him. Sherlock leaned over, and grabbed it. John looked through the texts he got. Donovan and Lestrade texted him, wishing him wellness. So did Molly.

"Everyone sends their thanks." John told Sherlock. Sherlock watched him carefully, as he texted each person individually. Lestrade's text was not thought out very well, with many grammatical errors, same as Molly's. He texted Donovan a well thought out text, with no errors in spelling or grammar.

"I'm able to guess who you fancy as long as I back it up with facts, correct?" Sherlock asked. John nodded.

"Donovan because you put more thought into conversations, and talk frequently." Sherlock guessed.

"Nope. You're wrong." He smiled triumphantly. Sherlock huffed.

"Are men off the table? I need to know that at least." Sherlock asked. John shook his head.

"No guesses. For all you know, it could be a guy. I won't deny anything unless you're right." John smiled cheekily. He became tired quite quickly, and decided to sleep. Sherlock watched a nurse replace his IV bag while he slept, and give him some more morphine.

Since Sherlock has been clean for a couple of days, and he hadn't had a lot of coffee, he became a bit tired. The taste of coffee was starting to make him sick, so he avoided copious amounts of it, which didn't react well with his body. Sherlock rested his elbows on the bed, and accidentally feel asleep, his face and arms on the bed next to John's healthy leg.

John woke up groggily, and looked around. The world felt so numb, but he was able to recognize everything okay enough. He looked down, and saw Sherlock's head, laid down on the side of the bed, his lips slightly parted and his eyes closed. John smiled.

'Glad he's finally sleeping.' John thought. He heard someone knock on the door, and a doctor came in. Sherlock woke up quickly, and looked at the man.

"Well it looks like everything is going to be fine. Just wait here for a week, maybe less, and you should be good to go. Do you want me to set up a cot for you?" He asked Sherlock. John watched as Sherlock thought for a moment.

"I guess I'll sleep here. I'll take a cot." He answered dully. The doctor nodded, and left the room.

"You don't have to sleep here if you don't want to. I'll be fine." John told him. Sherlock shook his head.

"I'll just be bored if I go home. And then I'll overdose of drugs without you there to pump my stomach. You should be proud, John. I'm trying to become clean so I can absorb more information into my mind." Sherlock told him.

"That's a good goal. I was beginning to become sick of pumping your stomach every week. You're skin and bones all the time, maybe you'll become a healthy weight." John commented. Sherlock nodded. It wasn't so much that he wanted to become healthier, but Sherlock almost felt guilty. Without John, Sherlock would be shipped to a hospital by Mycroft most likely. And hospitals are boring as it is. He felt guilty that John had to take care of him, and not go out. It seemed that every other human goes out to have fun, besides them.

"Sorry that you are stuck with me." Sherlock laughed a little. John smiled.

"I don't mind it at all. Because of you, I have all the excitement I can get. Come on. I nearly died, again." John reminded. Sherlock agreed.

They talked for a bit more, until the nurse brought John his approved meal. Sherlock didn't eat since he disliked eating in general. Another nurse also set up the cot next to John, so Sherlock could sleep.

They talked some more, and John soon became exhausted from the medication. He feel asleep right as Sherlock was explaining how to clean up blood in the most efficient way.

Sherlock stripped down to his shirt and pants, and laid on the cot. It took him a long time, but he finally feel asleep from the lack of caffeine.