- c h a p t e r   s i x t e e n -

Sprawled out in front of the usual duo of the detective and the doctor plus Emma was a large stone building. There didn't appear to be any lights from within. The entire place looked devoid of people, like it had just been forgotten about.

"Why are we here?" Emma complained. "I thought we were going to where my father used to work."

"You said your father was a bookbinder," John stated. "Right?"

"Well, yes," Emma said, giving a shrug. She wasn't quite sure where this was going. 

"Did you ever, you know, see him binding books?"

"Do you think I cared?" Emma laughed, wondering why this was even a legitimate question. "No, I never saw him doing it."

"Well," John began, "this is the address for his business. It looks to be abandoned. It looks like it's been abandoned for many years, not just a matter of weeks."

"It's abandoned to the public, not abandoned completely," Sherlock began. "There are people still within the walls."

"What, really?" Emma responded. "No, that's impossible. The lights are all off. It looks like a mess. No."

"Then explain why there's fresh muddy footprints leading up to the front door," Sherlock said. "They're getting sloppy. Obviously they don't think anyone is coming here. That's good. We'll able to catch them by surprise."

"Them?" John questioned. "You think there are multiple people involved in this?"

"I know," Sherlock answered. He pointed down to the footprints from before, where it became clear that there were several different shoes that had been making tracks across the ground. They had left a trail straight to their hideout. 

"Well then," John said. "Let's go in."

Sherlock and John began making their way forwards, but Emma stayed behind. Her feet were firmly planted into the ground like a tree trunk. Her eyes had widened considerably, making it obvious that she wasn't going to be moving any time soon. 

"Emma, what's wrong?" John asked, beginning to walk back towards her. 

"We're just going to walk into this abandoned building that apparently has people inside? Aren't we supposed to be finding the people who killed my father? Isn't that dangerous?"

"That's why we're bringing guns along," John replied. "Here, take this." 

He produced a handgun from the inner pockets of his jacket and handed it to Emma. She stared at it perplexed, trying to figure out what had just happened. Everything was moving so quickly and no one else seemed to be bothered about it.

"Don't you need one?" she asked.

"That one is a backup," he replied. "You always need to have a backup plan just in case."

"Teach me how to use it," she demanded, turning the gun around in her hands. 

"Of course," John replied. "I wouldn't let you have it if I wasn't going to teach you." 

"Oh, I see," Emma laughed. She had been seriously concerned that she had just been handed the gun so it would look like she had a way to defend herself, but it would be nothing more than a bluff. It might work for a few seconds, but then she knew she would end up finding herself in mortal danger. If she were to tell the truth, she didn't think she could deal with such a thing.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock yelled. He had already made it to the front doors of the building. As he had just assumed that the two of them would be following right behind him, he hadn't bothered to turn around and check. Of course, this ended up not being the case at all.

"I'm teaching her how to use a gun, Sherlock," John yelled back. "We can't have her getting hurt during this."

"We don't have time for this!" Sherlock complained. 

"It's my case, so I say we have time for it!" Emma called out. She wasn't quite as interested in learning how to fire the weapon as much as to have an excuse for John's arms to be around her, but she did understand just how important this could end up being.

"Fine, then!" Sherlock yelled back. "Just remember that we have a job to do!"

"Use both your hands," John explained. "You've never fired a gun before, so you want to have a firm grip on it. Your dominant hand goes higher up, it's going to be the one to pull the trigger." 

By putting his hands on top of hers, he was able to move her hands around to be in the correct position. 

He continued to explain it all to her, up until her finger was poised and ready to shoot. As she pushed back the trigger  all the way, she gave a small flinch. Thinking that the gun was about to shoot, she started reacting in advance in her anticipation. In reality, nothing happened except for her movement. John put a hand on each of her shoulders to keep her steady.

"That's how you would fire it, if you had it loaded. Right now there's nothing in it, but as soon as you put in the magazine you'll have bullets in it. That means you'll have to be careful. They build in a safety feature so that you don't accidentally set it off."

"How does that work?" Emma asked. "Like, if I'm going to actually fire the gun because someone is coming after me, how do I get rid of the safety?"

"All you have to do is push back this lever right here," John replied, demonstrating it to her. She let out a small "oh" as it connected in her head.

The newly formed couple made their way over to Sherlock, who seemed to be bored out of his mind from waiting so long. As soon as they stepped through the doors and into the dusty building, however, he seemed to be engulfed with life and energy.This was where the consulting detective was meant to be. Now the matter at hand was to find something.

"I've never had a gun before," Emma breathed as they walked along slowly, sounding slightly giddy over the fact she had a weapon of mass destruction in her hand.

"I'll be doing my best to make sure you never have one again," Sherlock replied. He didn't trust someone of her mental state with something like that.

"She's doing fine, Sherlock," John replied. "Just let her be."

"So," Emma said, turning around to John. "I did good with the whole gun thing, yeah?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyelids together and spit out a single word. "Well."

"What? 'Well' what?" Emma was starting to panic already, thinking that somehow she had failed and Sherlock was about to criticise her again. It had gotten to a point where this reaction had become predictable to her, just as she was predictable to him.

"No," Sherlock said. "It's 'I did well,' not 'I did good.'"

Their bickering along with the occasional comment from John lasted for a good while, until Sherlock decided that he needed to work and solve this case. He could feel the thrill of a good murder in the air, and that was keeping him going.

"Sherlock," John said, pushing open a door and gasping at the contents "Emma, come here. I think I found something."

"What the Hell is all of this?" Emma exclaimed as she and Sherlock saw what he had found.

As if they were fruit for sale, the bags of blood were stacked on top of one another. There was a considerable amount of it. A closer inspection showed that they were all labeled. The blood had only come from a few people total. This meant the bags held most, if not all, of these people's blood.

"Oh my goodness. It's beautiful," Emma said.

There was a moment of awkward silence as both Sherlock and John turned to face her. This sounded vaguely like a phrase uttered by a serial killer they had caught a few months before, which was sort of disturbing.

"Sorry, it's just...the colour...wow," Emma breathed. "If I had paint like that..."

"It is rather pretty," John replied, leaping to agree with her now that he understood. If he didn't do this, he knew Sherlock would be sure to make some sort of comment that would make this all fall apart.

"It's all labeled," Sherlock noted, taking a step forwards. John and Emma were close behind, seeing that he was correct on this part.

"Ah!" Emma exclaimed, pointing out a specific pile of bags. "Look. Russell Newman. They've got my father's blood. This must be the people who killed him!" 

Proud that she had discovered this, she waited for Sherlock to verify that she really had noticed an important detail. But instead all she got in reply was him closing his eyes and turning away from her to think. With a sigh, she realised that it had been an idiotic idea to think that she would ever get any praise from him.

"John!" she now called out, running over to him. "What do you think is going on here?"

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure we're getting closer to figuring this out. Sherlock is, at least. The murderers must have something to with this."

"They're planting evidence," Sherlock said, his eyes popping open as his thought process ended. "That's what it is. It's so simple, I can't believe I didn't see this sooner!"

"Who is doing what?" Emma asked. Although she was confused, John understood exactly what was going on. He raised his head up as all the puzzle pieces slid their way together. It made perfect sense if you only just thought about it.

"They killed Russell Newman and used his blood, hair, and other forms of evidence to leave behind traces at crime scenes of the murders they carry out. When the evidence was traced back to a dead man, it would trip up those investigating it. They masked themselves with a dead man. Oh, it's brilliant!"

"But who?" Emma stressed. "Why?"

"Emma," John said, seeing that she was starting to strain herself in order to figure this out. He gave Sherlock a look, trying to get his flatmate to explain this further.

"He was in on it the whole time, Russell Newman," Sherlock continued. "He was a part of this far before he died."

"What are you trying to say? My father was actually part of a murderous gang who kills for fun?"

"If you want to use generalisations," Sherlock replied.

"That's a yes, then," John confirmed.

"Think about it," Sherlock said. "Really think about it. Your father obviously had money to pay for your opulence. You should have run out weeks ago with your spending habits, but you are still scraping by. If he were really a bookbinder, he wouldn't have had that much of an inheritance to give."

"But he was definitely a bookbinder," Emma insisted. "I remember so much paper and words and leather. That was my entire childhood. Why do you think I hate books so much now?"

"Side project. He had to have some sort of cover up story. His daughter might end up asking questions that he might not have answers to."

"I still don't get it," Emma replied, pursing her lips. 

"Ring of people. You get in, you get paid off. They kill off their own members to use to plant as murderers, it's part of the risk. Your father must have used his cover as bookbinder to transport messages. As soon as he decided he wasn't going to be a part of it, they got rid of him."

"Oh," Emma squeaked. Even with this explanation, it was still foggy in her mind. She would just have to get John to explain it all to her some time later.

"They must have their base here," John said. "Which means they're still somewhere in here."

"Then let's find them," Sherlock replied. With those words, their trek through the building began.

There was definitely a feeling of tension in the air, knowing that in any given room there could be a group of serial killers waiting for them. But at the same time, all they were doing was walking around in what seemed to be an empty building.

There was the sound of light humming coming from Emma's general direction. A quick glance over his shoulder told John that the woman was incredibly bored. Her eyes tracked around aimlessly, trying to find something that could keep her interesting. Unfortunately, nothing showed up. 

She was starting to regret going along with this. Yes, they had found a major clue with all of the blood bags. Yes, Sherlock had just about figured everything out in the blink of an eye as he always did.  Yes, she had gotten to spend some time along with John. But now she was just walking around in an empty building, forced to be quiet. It was so incredibly dull, and she didn't feel nervous at all.

The building was silent except for the sound of their breathing and footsteps, which almost seemed to echo around the walls. Emma was beginning to think that there might not actually be anything there at all. Sure, all the evidence pointed to there being people within, but she certainly didn't agree with that.

"Dominant hand on top, two hands total..." Emma murmured to herself, going over the gun rules out loud. Remembering things had always been quite a hassle for her, so she was hoping this would stick. She also needed something stimulating to keep her awake.

"Everything good back there, Emma?" John asked, turning around to face her as he spoke.

She stopped mumbling to reply with a big nod, saying, "Yes. Yes, it's all good. I remember it so far."

"Good," John said, giving a nod. 

"Align the sights," she whispered. "Use the dominant eye. And remember about the safety. Can't forget about the safety."

"I don't find that it is necessary to vocalise your thoughts in order for them to function," Sherlock grumbled. He gave a look to John, one that seemed to be asking if the army doctor could potentially persuade his new girlfriend to keep her mouth shut. The consulting detective was attempting to focus and think through this, but her words were making the process very difficult.

Without warning, there was the ear-splitting bang of a gunshot coming from Emma. She dropped the gun on the ground in surprise, the clattering noise only adding to everything else.

She let out a cuss word, but it was completely masked by the echoes of the gunshot. If the initial sound itself hadn't been enough to alert anyone in the building, the sounds that came afterwards made it clear that it had carried everywhere. 

"What did you just do?" Sherlock snapped, not even bothering to be quiet at this point.

"I was just trying to practice..." Emma replied, her voice trailing off. "It hit where I wanted it to. I think."

With the small break in the conversation, the trio could hear the sound of beating footsteps and loud yelling. There was certainly someone in the building, and they were coming.

"Congratulations," Sherlock sighed. "You have now alerted a ring of serial killers to our existence, and they are on their way."

"Great," John replied. "What are we supposed to do? I'm not sure we're quite ready to confront these people up close. They're not afraid of killing anyone, after all. We don't know how many people there are here and what they have on hand..."

"We can get backup from the police, but now we don't have time to be just standing around," Sherlock said, beginning to develop a plan. 

Over to the side, Emma had let out a noise that could not be described as anything else but a whimper. 

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I believe there is only one thing we can do at the moment," Sherlock responded.

"And what is that?" John asked.

"Run."

A/N I finally updated this and oh wow I hope this mystery makes sense now! I was proud of myself for continuing to add things to it...and I think it sort of kind of makes sense? I don't know. I worked to make sure that she was actually using a handgun correctly. Bit of a shame that she didn't think about what she was doing before she did it, but...oh well. Funfunfun.