Detective Kate Beckett

Jane Doe was in room 612 enjoying a dry piece of turkey with saltless gravy and overcooked peas and carrots. She had minor injuries but that wasn't what troubled her. What troubled her was the lie. What troubled her was the need to hide because she was possibly being watched. According to the official record, Kate Beckett was dead. And she would be until the man who had blown up her apartment was apprehended.

Other than the worry, she was bored. She couldn't call anyone, couldn't set foot out of this room. All around her were rooms full of patients in comas and vegetative states. There was nothing to do and even the nurses didn't visit other than at meal time. All she could do was watch tv, eat her pathetic meal, and wait.

Beckett hated waiting.

Beckett had gotten more pictures, pictures of an extremely intimate moment in her bedroom. She'd had enough. She couldn't live like this and posting officers outside, having Dick around patrolling, those things wouldn't deter whoever was doing this to her. She'd asked Murphy on the sly about Harry, what he was like, if he was really the real deal, and then she found her way to his doorstep. She wasn't above hiring a wizard.

All she wanted was to make it hard to impossible to peek in her windows. She needed to feel safe in her own home. It was something she desperately hoped he could do and she was willing to pay anything to get him to do it.

Beckett took the box with the photos to her desk and picked up the phone. When she still couldn't reach John she steeled herself and dialed Sherlock's number. He had, after all, told her explicitly to call if it ever seemed that she was on to something involving Moriarty and her gut said that this was exactly the sort of thing he'd want to know about.

"Pick up," she whispered, hoping she didn't go straight to voicemail.

Sherlock preferred to text. It helped him avoid having to deal with emotional clients. He just needed the facts, not the drama. The only numbers he answered were those of the police and related parties. He glanced sideways to the phone on the kitchen table and recognised Beckett's number. Could be interesting. So he picked up.

"Yes?"

"Sherlock," she said. "I think he's interested in me. Mor- you know. I've been getting things and now it's escalated. Photos, Sherlock. And it was addressed to Katie." The way she said the name was a mixture of fear and disgust.

Things. Photos. Hugely informative. The pressing tone though, made it obvious she was upset. "Pips?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "But I didn't want to wait until it was. Call it a gut feeling...this started just after we started closing in on the dealer. If I brought you things I've gotten will you look at them and tell me if I'm right?"

"Please do," Sherlock replied. "Don't forget the envelopes if anything came in one." There was a short pause, before he added; "There's time. If you were not sent pips, there's time."

That was more reassuring than she could say. In the back of her mind she knew, of course, that it wasn't the end until the seeds showed up, but she also knew that by the time they did there wouldn't be any stopping this.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she said softly. "I'll bring you everything I've got. Goodbye."

She wasn't surprised when the call just ended. Sherlock didn't do goodbyes.

This case was proving to be a pain in the ass. Beckett was working to stay objective. It seemed the rest of the cops involved were just happy to have a viable suspect behind bars but she knew that one way or the other, this case needed more. A witness statement and a profile weren't enough for the prosecutor. Even the fact that Sherlock knew the weapon didn't damn him entirely. Beckett knew she either needed a lot more to get a conviction or a lot more to free an innocent man.

She did what she did best. She buried herself in the case. It was mostly leg work, there wasn't enough yet to piece together, although her murder board was getting crowded. They'd served the search warrant and hadn't found anything of use in Sherlock's apartment, but Beckett delighted in seeing the detective's own process with his version of a board. She kind of liked that she wasn't the only one who meticulously laid out all the evidence so she could see it as one whole picture. There was other information, old cases Sherlock had worked on. It took Beckett a couple days before she had something. Something she wasn't quite sure what to do with, but something. A connection.

Beth Ely and Sandra Gray had both done drops for a small time dealer named Jeff Trulove. Lover, as he was known as on the streets an in the clubs. It was a name that stood out and once she'd made the connection between the girls, she went back to the files from Sherlock's. One abandoned case. One name. One lead in an otherwise frustrating case.

She walked into the interrogation room with a file and a tablet. Sitting down, she looked at Sherlock evenly, noting how awful the jail attire was and how he still carried himself with dignity in the awful clothes.

"What can you tell me about Jeff Trulove?" she asked, seeing no reason to be anything but direct. She pulled out the dealer's mug shot so Sherlock could see who she was talking about.

"I think you're right," she agreed. She was ready and eager toget out and go inside. Paying for the cab took no time at all and theen they were on the sidewalk and she was freezing in the short dress and the shorter coat.

"Lead the way," she said,catching hold of his hand again.

She hated the hospital. She hated the drugs and the smell and the nurses coming and going. She couldn't get any decent sleep because someone was constantly there to check her stitches or her blood pressure or her temperature. It took a couple days before they eased off on the narcotic drip and she could focus and stay awake. Watch the vid. Raley and Ochoa had been in, as had the Captain and it seemed like half the department. Her oom was full of flowers and balloons and well wishes. The department shrink had been in twice already and Kate knew she was going to have to talk to him at length eventually.

But for now she had a tray of clear liquids, coffee and broth and gelatin. She had the vid on some mindless program about interior design. The day was sunny and Kin City General buzzed with activity around her. It made it easy to think of anything other than being tied to the wall and nearly gutted. It made it easier to forget why she hurt so much right now with her bandaged ribs and her wrist in a cast. No, she didn't think about those things in the daylight. Those thoughts came at night.