Sherlock dug out the file and opened it. Mycroft had given it to him at the gate as well as a lift to the airport. He had also arranged the relative transport and accommodation for Sherlock in America. Mycroft did have his uses. Sherlock had been flying for a good hour now. He flicked through the file absentmindedly and soon found himself staring at him. He saw red. Sebastian Moran, his fiancée's murderer. He was nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. Brown hair, brown eyes and well tanned. He had obviously enjoyed his holiday after his last victim. This was a complete opposite to Sherlock. He had been struggling against falling back into a deep depression and drugs. Sherlock looked back at the photo. The only slightly off-putting thing was the, almost, murderous glint in Moran's eyes. Definitely a psychopath then, Sherlock thought to himself. Why else would he kill his John? He continued to look through the file picking out the important information. Moran was staying in an old house in the middle of nowhere. Where nobody could hear you scream. Sherlock zoned in on the main fact he needed. Moran's Achilles heel. John had not gone down without a fight. He managed to get a bullet or two in his leg. One perfectly calculated kick would get him down where he belonged. John had left him with a slight advantage. Sherlock closed the file, put it away and then closed his eyes. He remembered John. His blue eyes and how they lit up every time Sherlock said I love you. Oh how he missed him.
