I sat in my arm chair and drummed my fingers anxiously against my leg. Lucy sat on what used to be John's chair and she twirled a lock of her long, dark hair on her finger. The man that had arrived at the door looked identical to the man we'd questioned the other day, but he insisted his name was Simon Sanches.

"Lucy..." I said simply and gestured to my laptop on my desk. She nodded and stood up grabbing my laptop and popping it open.

"How can we help you Simon?" I asked flatly. "We're quite busy, so don't waste our time," I said avoiding Simon's gaze.

"Oh....oh no. No, Mr. Holmes. I'm here to help you. I have some important information regarding your most recent case...." He said slowly. His voice sounded like sandpaper.

"Yep. Simon Sanches, all his information is right here just as he said: maintenance worker, no relation to Cameron whatsoever," Lucy showed me the monitor with his information and I nodded.

"How can you help us, Simon?" I said as I stared at my feet.

"Ikon, the detective, he doesn't exist, Mr. Holmes....." Simon said wringing his hands together.

"No. He does. We saw all his identification papers and records," I disagreed with a heavy sigh.

"No, sir. I....was doing some maintenance work on the stop lights and I stopped by Ikon's.....house. I heard about him.....in the papers so I wanted to meet him. I knocked on the door....no answer. I pulled on the handle and the door.....was open. No one was there....and....I don't want to talk about it Mr. Holmes.....it was.....bad," Simon's words were all run together and separated by extremely long pauses. I let out a long exhale through my mouth and Lucy quickly took over.

"Do you have an address?" Lucy said. The man nodded vigorously and searched frantically in his pockets. He finally managed to fish a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and he handed it to Lucy.

"Thank you, Simon. We'll be in touch," Lucy said with a minuscule smile.

Simon nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. I could hear him struggling down the stairs with the heavy thumping of his feet. Lucy glanced at me.

"You wouldn't look at him. You know him, don't you?" Lucy asked, tilting her head.

I didn't respond.

An understanding frown spread across her face.

"He's your dealer!" Lucy said pointing at me accusingly.

"He...provides me with items that traditionally aren't found in a market," I said.

Lucy laughed and shook her in disbelief. "You are unbelievable,"

I stood up quickly and attempted to change the subject.

"Lucy, I need you to go Bart's and pick up some blood tests from Molly Hopper. I'll visit the address and see what I can find there," I said, as I began pulling on my coat and scarf. "I'll text you from there," I put my hand on the door knob to exit, but I paused and turned to Lucy.

"I'm not quick to trust, but in this scenario, with the situation being as it is, I don't have a choice. You'll find that it's a very small world when I'm angry with me," I turned and left shutting the door behind me.

* * * * * *

"So....you're friends with Sherlock?" Molly said pulling the silicon gloves off of her fingers.

"I guess you could say that," Lucy said giving Molly a small grin. Molly frowned slightly.

"Must be nice," She muttered under her breath.

"Hmmm?" Lucy asked.

"Umm...nothing," Molly said shaking her head. "It's just...Sherlock. He's got an amazing mind, he's very handsome, and he gets what needs to be done, done. But he isn't....normal. He doesn't have feelings like you and I. I've know him for years and he just isn't built for love and compassion. His work is what he loves. And you're beautiful, Lucy, you deserve someone amazing, I can tell. But don't get attached to Sherlock. He'll only use you," Molly finished gravely.

Lucy smiled slightly and glanced down at the table. She knew what Molly said was true on several levels and it made her smile. It made her smile because it reminded her of the first time she and Sherlock had met. He was almost exactly as Molly described him, but Lucy could tell from their first meeting, that there was more to Holmes then what meets the eye.

* * * * * *

Lucy Alissandria Grimm has a fairly average life-- that is, if you consider being a semi-genius (oh, alright, genius, but don't say she isn't modest) and superspy (technically, she's a special agent, but superspy just sounds so much cooler) for the CIA a normal life. For her, it's the only life she's ever known, so yeah, normal life sounds about right.

She's 28 when she first meets Sherlock, undercover as a maid named Andrina in the British Embassy in Berlin to investigate a murder (and possible nefarious plot). (She never said she didn't have a flair for the dramatic.)

He's there to investigate the murder and when she's assigned his room to clean, he quickly deduces many things about her: 1) Grew up in the country (true for her persona, while she personally grew up in both NYC and London), 2) Not very smart (Hah, if only he knew. She's the brightest witch of her age. And a veritable nerd), 3) 28 years old with a recently ended relationship. (Actually, that one was spot on. He proposed, she left. She's not one for serious relationships and had no idea how he misread the signs so terribly.)

He doesn't deduce that she's faking an entire life at the moment. She's doubtful he's really as perceptive as the public think, although it's clear he's brilliant. But then again, she can't blame him. She's just that good.

It's 4 weeks of undercover work and cleaning rooms (while going through papers and stealing national secrets, naturally) til the first big lead comes in, and when it rains, it pours, and soon Lucy has pieced together that there's to be a bombing, and soon.

Given her lacklustre first impression of Sherlock, she's quite surprised to find him in the underground tunnels the day she finds out- almost too late, as it's also the planned day of the bombing. His eyes widen, seeing her, and in his typically arrogant way, he speaks to her.

"You need to leave. Now. It's not safe. Get everyone out as soon as you can, there's a-"

"Bomb in the catacombs, yes yes, keep up. Left here, yes?" She cuts him off and finishes his sentence before turning left to follow the rough map she had made. He pauses, surprised, and she rolls her eyes.

"Oh yeah. How do I say this? Not a maid. Now, come on!" She pauses at another fork in the road, taking off a backpack and pulling clothes, guns, a smaller bag and multiple other weapons out. Grabbing the clothes, she strips off her servant's uniform to show a black shirt and black spandex shorts, slipping on cargo pants and tennis shoes before strapping weapons everywhere. She barely contains a laugh at his expression; he seems deep in thought, and probably confused. She snaps her fingers in front of his face.

"Oi, snap out of it. This is not a safe situation, and you're a civilian. I assume you've got big brother authorizing your every move but if you aren't on your toes you'll be endangering yourself, me, Berlin, and possibly what semblance of world peace we have, savvy?" All he could do was nod and run after her. Finally, they entered a room with eight corridors stretching out into the dark. "Shidammit!" she swore, consulting her map before peering into every one, to no results. She studied the map again before her head snapped up, staring at him. "You!"

He arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Make yourself useful. You're supposed to deduce things, aren't you? Which way is it?"

He opened his mouth to argue but, remembering what was at stake, closed it and stepped forward, turning slowly in a circle.

"Stop thinking," he muttered. She looked up from her map in surprise, and although she was slightly pissed off, she understood what was at stake and wisely kept her mouth shut.

Eventually, he pointed toward one slightly to the left, and with no explanation, merely said "that one." She didn't ask for one, but would want one later. All she said was, "You're positive?" He shot her a look, and after a moment, she nodded. "Alright then. Let's go. But first..." She handed him a small, flesh-tone earpiece and gestured for him to put it in. "It seems as if we're in this together now, and we'll need to communicate if we get separated. It's only logical." He studied her face for a moment before nodding and slipping it in.

The next 20 minutes of walking and searching passed quickly. Before they knew it, they were in a large cavernous space filled with 6 people running around, setting what had to be a massive bomb up in the center of the cavern. The next 5 minutes were a blur. To her surprise, Sherlock was quite an adept fighter and they worked well together. She was happy that she only had to shoot someone once, and only in the leg. She killed when she had to but it wasn't her preference. She preferred working with knives, and occasionally a whip or a bow. Her weapon of choice, however, was a gun, but not a conventional one. Instead of bullets, her guns carried special tranquilizer darts, with different concentrations. Some would knock you out for mere minutes, while others could effectively keep an enemy down for hours. The darts- and the specialized gun- was her own creation and had since spread to other agents. No one liked killing when it wasn't necessary, and this way let the CIA (and other agencies who had used the guns) capture more enemies.

After she had tied up the terrorists, Lucy walked over to the bomb, unsurprised to see Sherlock standing there examining it. He moved over a bit, creating a space for it. She handed him a pair of gloves and put hers on, picking up the obelisk-shaped explosive with a lig light touch. Without looking up, she speaks softly. "You did good. Thank you." His blue eyes flick over to her hazel ones and he nods, not saying anything else. After a moment, she straightens, setting the bomb down gingerly. She looked up at him, determined.

"You should go. This is a Class C, Type A-X1X bomb. I'm 96% certain I can diffuse it, but in the unlikely but highly dangerous chance something goes wrong, you need to get yourself far away from here."

"I can help."

"I never said you couldn't." she replied, simply. When he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off. "Sherlock, I have to do this. This is my job, and frankly, even if it wasn't, this is still where I'd be. But you, Sherlock, you're special. You have the ability to help so many people, save so many lives. This is my duty, whether I blow up or not. Your duty is to survive. Live to help more people." Her voice is deadly serious as she speaks, her eyes never leaving his. "Go, Sherlock. Now. That is an order." Her gaze is torn away by a loud beep coming from the incendiary device, and she swore under her breath.

Sherlock chuckles, a dry, humorless sound. "I'm staying."

This time, Lucy doesn't argue.

~~~~

They'd finally had a moment to themselves after being checked over by countless officials- him, reluctantly, her, answering their questions with ease, and going through everything like it was a regular occurrence for her, which, for all he knew (due to her annoying lack of giveaway details), it could be. She was extremely thorough in being sure to erase any evidence of, well, anything from her appearance. She didn't initiate conversation, instead, taking deep breaths and stretching out her muscles. When she was finished, she stood more loosely and relaxed, her expression less businesslike and instead at a near grin. She wasn't sure what she'd find when she was assigned the job, but nobody died and no world leaders are any the wiser so she considers it to be a total success.

Impatient, he finally snaps.

"What the hell, Andrina?"

"Not my name." she answered, simply.

"Oh, yes? What is it then?" He snaps.

"Can't you deduce it? Oh, wait. I'm that good." She smirks and flashes him a wide grin. He glares at her, off his adrenaline high, and her smile becomes more genuine. She holds out a hand for him to shake, and he loses the glare.

"Lucy Grimm. Pleasure to meet you."

He nods, and she tries to hold off a laugh.

"What!?"

"Tell me something. How much does it piss you off that you can't "read me" or "deduce me" or whatever you call it?" She makes airquotes with a half smirk.

"Who said I can't?" Sherlock sounded almost insulted.

"Ohhh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you couldn't tell I wasn't a simple country-bred maid named Andrina for weeks and you still haven't made any observations, despite being right by my side the past," here she checks her watch, "oh, 8 and a half hours?"

He blinked, not having realized how much time had passed, before standing and strolling to stand in front of her. Lucy grinned and leaned back, getting ready for a show.

Sherlock took a deep breath and began speaking.

"You are single. Your last boyfriend proposed to you and you left him. You're afraid of commitment, afraid to get close to someone in your line of work, because you know the risks and you've experienced them before, but not just a colleague, you lost a family member, didn't you? You're very brave though, and intelligent, which means that you use his death- it is a he, isn't it? A brother?- to motivate you, not hinder you. You want to stop anyone else from feeling what you felt. Oh, but you also happen to love it. You live for the adrenaline," here he pauses. "Did I get that right?"

Lucy looks at him, a shade paler and teeth biting the inside of her cheek, hard. She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd be holding and laughed, a short, humorless laugh. "I underestimated you, Sherlock Holmes. You didn't get everything right, but you were good."

She's lost some of the bounce in her step when she stands, handing him a card with her name on one side and her information on the back. Half-faking seriousness she nods, indicating the card. "If you lose that card, with my information, you'll be endangering my life and half the free world." She winks at him with a half smile. "I hope to see you again, Holmes." She walks away without waiting for his response. He flips over the card and frowns, then chuckles at her nerve.

"Deduce my number, wise guy. Then call me. -LAG"