"I don't think the blood beneath his fingernails was defensive, more accidental. From what you told me, his fingertips had bruising on them, as though he grabbed onto something very tightly. Which is very likely. His killer."

London swings around, placing down the test tube and picking up some glass slides. A distilled blob of blood stains each surface. The Inspector and for whatever reason beyond tagging along to harass him, despite the claims of wanting to become a Detective, Officer Donovan, had arrived at London's apartment approximately an hour ago to request the Consulting Criminals assistance once more. Elliot had very wisely made his exit when London told him they would have "guests".

"I will add another interesting piece of data I discovered. From what I have been able to deduce, the blood matches what was discovered in the first victim you had me look at."

Officer, Detective, whatever Donovan wanted to call himself, made his voice known.

"What are you talking about? That's not even possible."

Neither is Donovan's existence but here you're is what London really wanted to say.

"Do not speak, Donovan, you lower the IQ of the entire street. I know exactly what I am speaking of. Now I don't know who this boy was killed by, or if the blood is from the same killer. But Inspector, if it is from a person…they should either be very ill, or very dead because what I have found, at least until I study it further, it's the only way I can possibly describe it."

The Inspector let out a sigh of frustration, not the first since his arrival. London placed one of the slides down, turning back to face the Inspector and Donovan. 

"You found no blood at the scene, correct? No blood that would be consistent with the wounds on the body."

Do not answer, Donovan, please do not answer.

"There he goes again. Speak like a normal human being, my god. Inspector, why..."

The Inspector raised a hand, motioning for Donovan to shut up before either he or London threw him out the window of the apartment.

"Donovan, enough! You want to become a Detective so damn bad? Well for once shut up, watch and listen to London. We found minimal blood at the scene..."

And while Donovan was getting chewed out, London deduced why that was.

"Because most of it was on his clothing." 

The Inspector nodded.

"Which means he was tied down."

London and the Inspector turned to Donovan, who suddenly look so proud of himself. London was about to take that pride and make Donovan choke on it.

"No. There would be evidence of it, without looking at the body for myself, I'm going to assume there was not even marks or hand prints."

London's explanation and force feeding of his pride didn't sit well with Donovan.

"There has to be something we're either missing or there's something the Freak is keeping from us. According to him, all we have to go on is the blood, which so far is getting us nowhere, just like talking to him!"

The feeling was mutual.

"Donovan, I warned you..."

London turned his back once more on the Inspector and Donovan. He grabbed the one glass slide he hadn't checked yet and placed it under his microscope.

"Was there saliva around the wound?"

The sharp intake of breath didn't escape London's attention. He was correct. Again.

"Yes. Good guess. Very good guess."

Donovan's lips tighten into a thin line and gritted his teeth, which London could hear grinding.

"It might be an animal attack. I was thinking the same thing, yet…" 

The Inspectors words trail off. He seems to be lost in thought, so London took it upon himself to help him out. Without looking up from his microscope.

"Animals attack out of fear or need. They don't intentionally inflict damage. It's as though whatever killed him made one wound to kill him, then ripped his throat out in spite. Plus, the lack of blood is strange for an animal attack. I need to go over every piece of evidence you have. There isn't much, I know, but it's possible you've missed or forgotten something because to be completely honest, you haven't been looking at the big picture."

Removing his attention from the microscope, London turned back around to face the two men who clearly looked like kicked puppies upon being told they still had more work to do, work that London was willing to do.

"You wanted my help, yes? Well there's only so much even I can do without further data. You either go back to the station and grab everything you have, regardless of whether you think it's useful and bring to back here. Or you allow me access to the scene, the station, the body and the peace and quiet to find you your answers."

London folded his arms over his chest and leaned back slightly in his chair against the table. The Inspector was clearly thinking over London's request while Donovan looked like he was biting his tongue in half.

"Okay. I'll honor your request starting with going back to the station and grabbing everything we have and bringing it back here. Then we'll take it from there. Deal?"

A nod was the Inspectors only response as London turned back around in his chair and returned his attention to a stack of papers.

"Donovan, lets go. We'll return as soon as we can. Thank you for your time, Holmes."

The Inspector and thankfully only the Inspector returned to London's apartment a mere 15 mins after he left, which wasn't a good sign and it was confirmed as such when the Inspector handed over one medium size box and a smaller box which contained pieces of paper and photos. Not all appeared to be in once piece. London was definitely going to have his work cut out for him and he didn't mind. Yet.

Luckily for him, the Inspector left as quickly as he arrived, mumbling something about leaving Donovan alone in his office and a promise of returning in several hours hung in the air as he left. As soon as the front door had closed, London got to work on the boxes. Placing the medium and slightly heavy box on the ground near the door, he would get to it soon enough. His focus was on the smaller box which contained the paper and photos. 

Moving the coffee table, couch and the chair he often sat in, out of the way towards the kitchen until there was nothing but a wide open space and kitchen that was now inaccessible, London sat down in the center and dumped the box of paper and photos out on to the living room floor, scattering it around him in a near perfect circle. In doing so, he confirmed one of his biggest concerns... not all the paper was in tact. Some of it had been ripped to pieces. London could only hope that the Inspector and his men, god forbid Donovan, did their jobs and picked it all up. Only time would tell.

20 minutes had passed since London had opened and dumped the box on to his living room floor. However he quickly grew frustrated because he couldn't see everything. So he changed his tactic using the wall above the fireplace. He took every piece of paper and photo, pinned them up on the wall, then he sat back down on the floor and waited. 

The scale he had created would make it easier to see connections. Draw lines. Find hidden patterns. London was looking up at the mess when he heard it. The front door was violently kicked open, turning around he saw Elliot had arrived back but he wasn't alone.

"London! Maybe you can give me your opinion on this. Benny here made a promise and he has rather rudely gone and broke it. I requested his help several weeks ago in order to replace the violin you had destroyed over your own head some time ago."

The small man, Benny, London presumed, was trying rather unsuccessfully to cower even further into the wall Elliot had him pinned against.

“He assured me he could help with that only to find out that he took my money and spent it, well rather gambled it all away. This disrespect can’t be tolerated. So, what are we going to do about that?"

London silently questioned the “we” in that last sentence. Benny looks over at London, fear and just a tiny glimmer of hope reflecting in his sad, brown eyes. London looked at Benny and then at Elliot who was grinning like the psychopath he is.

"You dragged him all the way here, from what I assume is all the way downtown, just to more or less ask my permission so you can or possibly the both of us, beat him up? Elliot, please do what you must, I have more important things to attend."

London turned his back on the two men and refocused on the wall. Elliot, finally realizing what London was doing before his arrival, took the chance to teach Benny a lesson. Elliot's arm moves in a flash, landing a brutal punch into Benny's gut. The small man’s breath comes out in a rush as he sags against the wall. Elliot follows up with a crack across his face, splitting his lip in a splash of blood. Benny collapses all the way to the floor and Elliot follows up with three brutal kicks to the ribs, leaving the hapless man curled into a fetal position on the floor, softly moaning.

Elliot kneels down, roughly grabbing Benny's chin and growling at him.

“You owe me, with interest. I want my money and London's violin by next week or we’re going to have another ‘conversation’. Understand?”

Benny nods as best he can with Elliot's bruising grasp on his chin. Tears are flowing freely down his cheeks. Elliot finally releases him.

“Now get the hell out of here.”

Elliot re-opened the door instead of sending Benny crashing through it and Benny then half-stumbles, half-crawls his way down the hall and disappears out into the night as quickly as he can while Elliot shuts the door and then makes his way over to London who was still sitting on the floor, looking up at the wall.

"Why are you looking at pieces of paper, photos and..."

Elliot looked around the living room and its sudden lack of furniture and followed the drag marks on the floor which ended at the kitchen.

"Why is the furniture in the kitchen?"

Because...

"As ever my dear fellow, you see but do not observe."

Elliot chuckled and sat beside London.

"Oh I see and observe plenty. Just not at this point in time. So care to enlighten me? When I left you, you were going through blood slides. I assume your little shrine or whatever the hell it is, came from the Inspector?"

London didn't respond, instead he suddenly got up and moved several pieces of paper and then stood back.

"If you or your little punching bag did not damage it in any way, there's a box over by the door, can you please go and get it for me."

Elliot looked at London who was still standing and shook his head in wonder.

"You do realize you're standing..."

London was not listening, he had gone back into his Mind Palace for whatever reason. Searching for god knows what. The things Elliot did for him. He got himself back to his feet and walked over to the door. Elliot grabbed the box and walked back over to London and placed it by his feet.

The Inspector had made good on his promise of returning to check up on London's progress and London had informed he of everything he had found including what he did and didn't find in the boxes of potential evidence collected. However it was the strange blood he had originally found that was still a source of frustration and curiosity for the Consulting Criminal which was made even more pronounced when the Inspector handed him some notes 'that man down in the basement" as London referred to him as, had taken in regards to the autopsy of the latest victim. It seemed he was just as frustrated and curious as London.

"So, how does someone die of shock?"

London pulled his focus up and away from the microscope, rubbing his eyes while trying to find the easiest way to explain it to the Inspector and Elliot, who by some miracle had stayed and busied himself with returning all the furniture back to its original spots because if he did not, London would gladly leave it where it was and when asked because nothing useful had been found hidden within it, taking down the wall of paper and photos London had created. Turning around in his chair, he addressed the Inspector.

"There are many ways. However if you want my opinion, which you do, it was due to an attempted blood transfusion."

This time it was Elliot's turn to voice his feigned confusion.

"What?" 

London really did not like repeating himself and Elliot knew it but it never stopped him from making the Consulting Criminal do it.

"A blood transfusion."

With his task completed and successful, Elliot dramatically threw himself down into London's chair. 

"How would a blood transfusion kill him? Don't people have blood transfusions all the time?"

How many more questions was the Inspector going to ask? London could see where Donovan picked up the same annoying habit.

"Yes and no. Normal blood transfusions in hospital patients are fine. In this case, my guess is someone attempted to completely siphon all of his own blood out of his body and replace it with something else. The pain would have been excruciating. In the end, the organs would have shut down and death would have followed."

Elliot let out a low whistle and the Inspector winced and raised an eyebrow at Elliot's response.

"But why would they want to do that?"

While he did not admit it out aloud, London had to admit it was an impressive attempt. One that he would try himself if given the chance.

"I can only give you the facts of what I find. Unfortunately, all the facts are not at my disposal until you allow them to be."

Which was not entirely true but making the Inspector believe it was always a fun thing to do.

"We both know I would if I could, I'm risking enough as it is. The Chief still hasn't forgiven or forgotten about that stunt you pulled during your last visit to the station a mere 2 weeks ago. Deducing the man in front of half the station. Telling him his wife had been cheating on him with his own brother and that she was also 4 months pregnant with his brothers child!"

Elliot burst out laughing. London had neglected to tell him that. 

"Well he was the one that asked if I had anything to say. Ask and you shall receive. It is not my fault he did not like my answer nor being faced with the truth."

The Inspector shook his head, looking at his watch, he rose from his seat and rolled his head from side to side in an attempt to loosen the tension that had built while talking to the Consulting Criminal.

"No man likes that, Holmes. Now is there anything else I can possibly do for you that would require you keeping your distance from the station at least for a while longer?"

There was nothing that could stop him keeping his distance from the station but at this point in time London truly had no reason to go there.

"I'm sure you told that simpleton, Donovan, to attempt a form of work that required him to scribble rather unintelligent like, names of potential witnesses. I would like to take a look at that and see what they said or rather did not say. Also another visit to your man down in the basement would be ideal. See if he has found anything else since you last spoke."

The Inspector nodded and left London and Elliot behind without further comment.

"Let’s start with the bloody obvious. The pair of slashes across his stomach."

London approached the body but was careful to avoid getting his shoes and trouser cuffs soaked in blood.

"The apparent cause of death: two cuts across the center of the stomach. Several identifiable organs, with the intestines draped out on his lower right. Towards his upper left, his stomach. The cut itself only nicked the outside of the stomach, but it was a deep gash where all manner of juices and gases leaked from."

Elliot looked on and listened in fascination as the Inspector and Donovan did their best to keep from running from the room and losing their lunch out on the sidewalk.

"Killer put his shoulder into this, two hands on the blade, and hurled it downwards. Put his weight into it, too. Couldn’t have been the other way. This bloody ‘X’ was drawn starting from the top. He was on his back, just like how he is now. It takes finesse to cut in a distinct pattern, even an ‘X’, and the killer needed to be in a position where he could put his weight into the attack. You get cut open like this, only thing you’re doing is dying. My intelligence is being severely insulted because I'm supposed to believe he stuck his finger in his own stomach and wrote out some symbols? Look at his hands. They are pressed together, as if in prayer, and held over his head. His two index fingers are bloody."

The victims hands were clean, save for the dried blood on the tips of his pointer fingers. He looked as if he was prepping some sort of overhead attack. The symbols were written on the floor, and they weren’t upside-down (as far as London could tell). They were positioned just above shoulder height to the victims left.

"Elliot? I’d like your help in reenacting the victim’s position."

Elliot raised an eyebrow but did what he was told. He laid down, held his hands tied and behind his head. The killer took a different approach, London knew that, but he wasn't about to give the Inspector and namely Donovan, even more ammunition to use against him by straddling Elliot's body, even though it was in the name of science, so he improvised and knelt down beside him.

"Now, I'm going to pretend Elliot's stomach is bloody, and that his hands are tightly bound at the wrists. They’re up here, over his head. I’m not much of a finger-painter, Inspector, but isn’t it strange how only his index fingers have blood on them?"

The Inspector nodded in agreement. London then grabbed Elliot by the wrists and brought his hands towards him. 

"And I don’t care how flexible you are. When your wrists are tied together like this, they won’t bend far enough for those two fingers to touch your stomach. Realistically, the victim would use his thumbs or perhaps his pinky fingers instead. And even if he did get his index fingers bloody, his middle fingers are longer. So why aren’t they bloody as well?"

The question was answered by silence. The truth was facing them in red ink. London let the suspense build before stating the obvious.

"The victim didn't draw those symbols. The killer did."

London rose from his knees and held out a hand for Elliot to grab and pull himself from the floor.

"Now I shall get on to the bruises."

To investigate his skin properly, London knelt down on the floor and stripped off as much of the victim's shirt as he was able. It wasn’t an easy task, since the blood had dried into a glue. Once the task was complete, he stood back up and pointed to the areas he had exposed.

"Discoloration beneath the neck, across the left shoulder, and around what remains of his stomach area. His entire lower body is soaked in blood, making it impossible to tell any definite details. Still, we can conclude that he was in quite a fistfight. There was a struggle all right, but the victim didn’t do any punching."

Donovan, no longer able to keep silent, voiced his annoyance.

"The signs are right there, you said so yourself. Now you're saying the victim did not throw a single punch? How is that possible?" 

London took a deep breath and counted to three before responding.

"Surely, Donovan, yourself is no stranger to being on the receiving end of a fist to the face with the off-hand? This may surprise you, I’ve cracked a few skulls myself, but…”

Elliot knew that first hand, he had the bruises and broken bones to prove it, and let out a slight chuckle at the realization as London shook his left hand for emphasis. 

"Even with the most experienced fighter, the hand can swell up for days afterwards. If the victim here punched back, his knuckles would be red and bruised. Correct?"

The Inspector, Elliot and even Donovan, although reluctantly, nodded in agreement.

"Right, his knuckles aren’t red. If he defended himself, he didn’t use his fists. If you would like further proof, I would be happy to accommodate your request."

When the Inspector first pulled London out of his drug fueled boredom all those weeks ago and begged him for help about a series of brutal murders and attacks that more resembled animal attacks than human due to the sheer violence and gore involved, he should've told him to find someone else. He had his mind hauled over broken glass time and time again by the Inspector all in the name of saving lives. And time and time again, the Consulting Criminal did the same thing. 

Naturally, he’d said yes. 

What else could he do?

Again he'd go with his first instinct and tell the Inspector where to stick his plea because he wouldn't be finding himself alone in a dark alley looking for Elliot who disappeared into thin air after leaving him, the Inspector and Donovan behind at the scene the Consulting Criminal had been summoned. The same scene he had already seen seven times now.

A movement in the shadows at the edge of the alley near the exit out to the street caught his attention.

"Elliot?" 

London called out, but there was a dread in his gut, the figure was too thin, and nowhere near tall enough. 

It was at the lack of reply that he felt his blood run cold, and he slipped out further towards the light of the street to give himself some sense of clarity.

That decision proved to be ill advised. 

A moment later a force like steel collided with the side of his body, knocking him into the wall. London opened his mouth to cry out, but a strong hand clamped over his lips, a forearm pressing down on his throat like a steel bar.

London bit down then, hard enough to draw blood, tearing flesh between his teeth. Whoever had hold of him let out a pained growl beside his ear, but the arm around his throat didn’t loosen, and his vision was starting to blacken around the edges. He slammed back into the wall, knocking the man against the brick, trying to drive him to let go, to loosen his hold even an inch but to no avail.

He resolved himself to one thing then, even if he failed, he’d go down putting up one hell of a fight.

London slipped a hand, the one that wasn’t clawing desperately at the strangers forearm, into his pocket, his hand wrapped around the handle of his switchblade and he didn’t hesitate, driving the blade deep into his attackers thigh, just above the knee.

The man cried out in pain, and his hold loosened just enough for London to take in air again. He kicked back then, drove his heel forcefully into his attackers shin, finally breaking free of that hold. London started to move again, but he tripped over his own feet, still fuzzy from lack of oxygen, and his ankle was caught, yanking him back even as London scrabbled desperately at the pavement in the alley, nails bending back painfully as the skin on the tips of his fingers was scraped raw. 

London then proceeded to wrestle with the man atop him once more, trying to pry out of the grasp of someone who was seemingly determined to kill him for whatever reason. A blade came down close to his cheek, and London narrowly avoiding it slicing his eye, having it instead slide across the side of his cheek, cutting skin enough to sting and bring tears to his eyes.

London reached for the blade, but it was knocked out of reach, and strong hands came to wrap around his throat, for the second time this week he found himself being strangled. He clawed at the hand, trying to break the grip, nails biting into skin before his eyes fell on the brick laying on the ground to his left. He grabbed it and raised his arm, smashing it off the man’s head, hard enough to fracture his skull.

The man cried out, a sharp growl, and his grip loosened enough for London to roll him over, raising his fist, slamming it down into the stranger’s face. 

The blow sent blood spraying from the man’s lips, black in the moonlight that poured in through the street. He pulled his arm back, hit him again. Something woke inside him at the violence, months of pent up anger rearing its bloodthirsty head, and London couldn’t stop himself, hit again-and-again, felt an ache in his knuckles, felt bone cave beneath his fist as he broke teeth. 

Somehow the man swung at him with a knife again, and London caught his wrist, twisted the bone, a crack like a gunshot filling the street followed by a sharp scream. A scream which abruptly cut off into a choked gurgle when London drove the blade into the side of his neck, yanking forwards, and opening the man’s throat, blood sprayed across his face, and he froze then, staring down at the body beneath him, chest heaving as he caught his breath. 

Blood seeped through his shirt as it cooled, drying sticky on his skin, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to quiet the beast that loomed up in his chest. He was horrified, less by his action but more by how cathartic it had felt, and he sat in the darkness for a long moment, watching the life leave the man's eyes, who appeared to be in his mid twenties, he realized as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Life cut short at his hands.

His name might have been said, London didn’t know for sure, but he knew his hand shook, saw it when he finally looked at the bloody knife, still clasped between his fingers. He dropped it then, watched it splash into the pool of blood forming on the ground.

Strong arms picked London up from the ground and held him away from the body at his feet. The adrenaline and his fight or flight instinct had London trying to fight back against the hold.

"Hey. Relax. Breathe. It's me. I got you. It's okay." Elliot whispered against his ear, and London let out a long, shaky breath, his eyes falling shut for a long moment. 

He tried breaking free from Elliot's hold to get another look at what he'd exactly done but the sudden sounds of footsteps and shouting voices caused Elliot to loosen his hold enough only to grab London's bloodied and shaking left hand and turned to drag him away only to find himself at a stand still because London had used his deceptive strength to anchor himself to the ground.

"No! Not now. You hear that? We've got to get the hell out of here and you've got to get cleaned up before the Inspector or someone else kicks our door down wanting to know who's responsible. Understood? Elliot felt London relax enough to be lead away. "Thank you. Let's go."

It had taken little effort to get back to the apartment. It was obvious the Consulting Criminal had locked himself away in his Mind Palace and was now nothing more than a pliant body until further notice. Which meant Elliot was the one who would have to fix London's wounds, the physical ones at least and hope that no-one came knocking at the door wanting help.

Elliot lead London into the bathroom, stood him in front of the sink and leaned over to turn on the tap. Elliot reached for the hem of London's shirt, wanting to get the piece of clothing away from his skin, so he could get a better look at the wounds he knew were beneath. It was one thing for him to be the one who caused physical harm to the Consulting Criminal but it was entirely another story for someone else to do the same.

After unbuttoning the shirt and taking it off, leaving London in his equally blood soaked what used to be a white undershirt, Elliot wiped the blood from the edge of his face and cheek, exposing the extent of the slice created by the knife. “Not too deep. You're lucky." He said to himself because he highly doubted London could hear him anyway.

"You’ll need to shower." He paused, again talking to himself. "However that can wait." He added, not knowing how he would react to the sudden contact of water raining down on him.

Elliot then slowly grabbed a hold of the Consulting Criminal's hands, holding them under the warm water and a testament to how far removed from reality London was, he went willingly and didn't so much as flinch. It would be obvious to anyone that looked, that he had been in one hell of a fight. His fingertips were scraped raw on both hands, knuckles on his left were bruised and the hand was swollen, both palms were also scraped and several fingernails had been broken. Locking himself away in his Mind Palace may have been a blessing because the pain the Consulting Criminal would've been feeling now, made even Elliot wince slightly as he went about cleaning and disinfecting the best he could. He could give in and hand over London's stash of cocaine and morphine that he had hidden but it had taken so much work to get him clean and sober and even more to keep him that way. He was conflicted.

"Well at least now you can show proof of what you told Donovan earlier." Elliot said quietly and laughing to himself at the thought of that smug little asshole's face whenever he would get proven wrong. 

So very wrong. 

"Now I'm just going to sit you down for a second so I can get a better look at your chest, back and ribs. Okay?" Elliot again had no idea why he was even bothering to talk but there was some part of him that hoped, in a way, that London was paying him so attention. As he moved London to sit down on the edge of the bath tub, he grabbed the hem of his bloodied undershirt and lifted it up until it bunched around the Consulting Criminal's neck and then went about his task of looking over every inch of exposed, bloodied and bruised skin. As he did so, he found himself wondering what Donovan and everyone else's reaction would be if they saw the man they branded a "freak" day in and day out, the man they were constantly taking bets on his "body count" and all the other things he would and could do, would react to seeing him like he was now? How would they react to finding out that he was anything but a killer? London honestly hated violence, which was indeed strange considering the world he found himself in and the job title he had given himself. He prided himself on his iron control and will power to further set himself apart from everyone around him. However there was rare moments, like tonight, that he was forced to let go and become an animal.

And it was beautiful.

Elliot was about to pull London's shirt back down when London's hand suddenly shot up and stopped him. Elliot paused and waited to see what, if anything, would happen next.

"The body..." London said it barely above a whisper, Elliot wasn't even certain of what he heard. "Not human..." Elliot slowly stepped back until his back met the sink. It appeared London was slowly coming back but it was obvious he still had something blocking the exit of his "Mind Palace"

"I had no choice..." London finally lifted his head and Elliot frowned at what he saw. "I need to see what I did. We have to go back." Was Elliot hearing correctly? There was a body laying very much dead in some alley way and London WAS the one responsible. Now he was asking to go back?

"I know you can't see yourself right now, but trust me, you are in no condition to do anything. Especially crashing, what I'm fairly certain is now a crime scene crawling with police. Those same police that will more than likely come looking for you for answers. And even though for once you are responsible, you will not allow it to be pinned on you." Elliot said with a tone that he hoped would get it through to London that he was not a fan of letting him do what he requested. He then pushed himself from the sink and stood in front of London, more or less caging him in with his legs, while he was still sitting on the edge of the bath tub and looking like he'd run at any given moment.

"Which is exactly why I need to see what I did. There is still time. Given the distance from the station to that alley way, the response time of the station at this time of night, especially when it holds no more than two officers, both who will be asleep at this stage and maybe the Inspector if he is not off trying to repair that sham he calls a marriage. Add in the amount of people out on the street, the state 60 percent of them will be in, I still have 33 minutes and..." London paused for a moment, doing one final calculation. "21 seconds. Well at least I did." London spoke with as much emotion and truth as he was capable of. Elliot let out a breath and mumbled something under his breath.

"Fine. We'll go back but..." Elliot raised his right index finger for a second. "The moment I hear so much as a mouse, we leave. Understood?" Elliot turned his back and headed for the bathroom door, silently wishing he didn't just make a huge mistake letting London return to the scene of his own crime when it was obvious he was still not himself despite the act he was trying to put on. He paused long enough to give the Consulting Criminal one last request of his own. "Stay here for a moment longer, I'll get you a clean shirt and a pair of pants. Then once you put them on we can go."

God. Elliot thought as he left the bathroom. The things he did for the one and thankfully ONLY London Holmes.