I arrived at the house and looked up at it. It was a standard London flat, well decorated on the outside with neutral paint covering all sides of the house.

I reached into my pocket searching for the address scrawled on the paper. My fingers finally found the slip of paper. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at it twirling it between my thumb and forefinger. It was a business card that on the front read:

Private Maid

And on the back, written in fast, but neat handwriting was this:

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

I frowned and furrowed my eyebrows. I never remembered getting this card. Much less keeping a card someone gave me. Business cards from clients always went straight into the trash. It was odd that I'd kept this one. I decided I'd think of why I kept it eventually, but now there were more pressing matters. I put my hand on the door knob and pulled it open. I was hit in the face immediately with a rancid smell that made me recoil. My stomach churned angrily, but my brain told me I had to push on. I pulled my scarf over my nose and walked into the flat. The floor was littered with papers and glass. A brown couch lay on its side and the cushions lay mutilated, the stuffing spewed out. Side tables were broken into pieces and one of the legs had been jammed into the wall. I kicked around some papers and was able to fish a faded picture from a broken picture frame. The picture showed a man smiling goofily as he held a glass of champagne in his hand. He was dressed sharply in a tuxedo and his friends laughed around him also holding glasses filled with alcohol. The back of the picture read: Edgar finally tying the knot!

I flipped the photo over again and observed the groom's face. He looked exactly like Simon and Cameron. I shoved the photo in my pocket, deciding I'd examine it closer later. Something deeper was going on here. Something more complex than our original case. I stood up from the ground and began to continue searching the flat. The kitchen was barren and void of everything except for a rotting apple with a letter opener jammed into it. I gagged as the horrible smell became worse as I ventured deeper into the flat. I made my way to a coat closet and I flung open the door. I pulled back quickly at the sight of at least 5 or more rotting cat corpses. The smell was rancid and it stung my eyes forcing me to turn away as I kicked the door shut. Dead cats? Why dead cats? Each clue continued to move me farther and farther away from finding a logical explanation to these strange happenings. I turned to begin my search again, but then I heard the crunch of glass behind me. I paused: Silence. I turned and ducked as someone's fist attempted to make contact with my face. I sprung back up as my attacker come at me again. He threw his fist, aiming at my shoulder and I grabbed his arm, flipping me over my shoulder and onto the floor. The man shouted as shards of glass dug into his flesh and I put myself on top of him, pinning his arms down.

"Who are you?!" I shouted.

The man in reply managed to flip me over onto my back. I squeezed my eyes shut as glass penetrated my own skin. The man pinned my arms to the floor and I pushed against his. He was much stronger then me.

"Mr. Holmes.....I'm afraid this case isn't one you'll be finishing. You'll be stuck here forever," the man said, little specks of spit flee from his mouth and dotted my face. The man continued to speak but I didn't hear what he was saying. I'd noticed the leg of the table was just a few feet away from my reach. I spread my fingers barely brushing the end of the leg.

"You see Mr. Holmes....you can't always be on the winning side,"

"Maybe.....but I'm sure as hell gonna try," I hit the man in the head hard with the leg and he recoiled loosing his grip just enough for me to push his off. I quickly jumped up and punched the man square in the jaw. He fell backwards and I kicked him in the ribs. I heard a sharp "crack" and the man squealed. He collapsed the the ground and gripped his side protectively. He wasn't going anywhere now. I felt blood on my chin and I wiped it off on my scarf. I chuckled slightly as I stared at the man who's ribs I'd broken. Lestrade said I had lost my touch, but I was still Sherlock Bloody Holmes.

* * * * *

Lucy stood up slowly when I entered the room. She bit her lip nervously as she walked towards me. I had a cloth on my lip as I tried to slow the bleeding. I hadn't even looked at the damage the glass had done to my back. But it felt as if constant knives were being pressed into my back. Lucy saw me wince as I took a step closer to her.

"What happened?" She asked stepping closer to me.

I pulled off my now blood stained scarf and tossed it into the floor.

"It's a bit complicated, but before I do anything, I need to call John. There is glass in my back and I can't get it out myself," I said in between grimaces.

Lucy put a hand on her hip and gave me a flat look.

"Am I invisible? I have two working hands," Lucy said, offended.

"I didn't know-" I began.

"Take off your shirt," Lucy demanded.

"Alright," I said finally caving.

I carefully pulled off my coat, then I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off tossing it aside. Lucy stepped towards me and made me turn so my back was facing her.

"Yikes," she said. I felt the tips of her finger nails against my back. She grazed her fingers over one of the glass pieces and I winced as she tugged on it slightly.

"It's in there good," she said pulling away. "This might take a while,"

* * * * * *

"What's with all of these identical people? Is it some sort of DNA sharing type, deal?"

Lucy said after I told her my story. She continued to treat my back by pulling out glass, disinfecting and bandaging.

"I don't know," I said.

There was a moment of silence as Lucy dabbed at a wound on my back.

"Lucy, what's your last name?"

I asked.

She didn't answer immediately as if she was trying to decide whether or not to lie to me.

"Grimm," she finally said.

"That's a bit unfortunate, don't you think?" I asked.

"Nah. It's all sort of dark and mysterious. I like to be mysterious," Lucy replied as she patched up another wound.

"I remember the catacombs, Lucy," I blurted out. Lucy dropped the rag she was using to clean my wounds. She paused and picked it up.

"The first time we met...." Lucy whispered.

"Yes. My mind managed to pull it from the wreckage. I don't remember that happening though. It was like a dream. It was me, but it wasn't," I said.

"Is that all you remember?" Lucy asked carefully.

"I didn't know there was more..." I said.

"We're good friends. We had a few more cases together," Lucy said.

I turned around so I was facing her, she frowned.

"Lucy, I know that whatever used to exist, was stronger than friendship. Much stronger. I can see when you look at me that part of you grows a bit happier. Like maybe this dodgy world could make sense. Some people would call that love. I don't know what love is. I've never felt it and I don't feel it now. Whatever existed, is gone, Lucy. If I ever did love you, it was a mistake. I can't let emotions cloud my judgement. I hope you haven't come to "win me back" because if that's the case, you should leave," I said brusquely.

Lucy's face fell she bit her lip trying to hold back tears. She stood up and scowled deeply at me. She threw the rag down.

"Clean your own damn wounds," She stormed off down the steps and I heard the door slam behind her.