Kanaya's head spun as another police car passed her, sirens blaring, toward the scene from which she fled. She was so scared, so absolutely terrified, not because she was afraid of getting caught, but because she knew she couldn't be. After years of promising herself to never let anything so horrifying happen again, she found herself sucked back into the nightmare from thirteen years ago. Images of her sister's bloody death melded with those of her recent victim's untimely demise as she tried to think of what she should do. It's strange how someone so intent on taking their own life will seek help in keeping what they so desperately want to lose. Before long, the psychic found herself looking up at a sign that read "Baker Street." She had never been there, but the name was all too familiar. After staring at it for a moment, she took off running, searching for one particular number she had seen in the media a dozen times over. Once she found it, she tried the door before frantically pounding on it, hoping that someone was awake in these early morning hours to let her in. For now, all she could do was pray that Sherlock Holmes was truly the kind of man the media made him out to be.