Sherlock Holmes looked over the ruffian whom he, Watson and Lestrade had captured earlier in the evening. Her hands were heavily calloused but not roughly so, From the way her knuckles bent he could deduce that she was a pianist and a quite avid one at that. Leaning back in his chair in the sitting room of 221B Holmes steepled his fingers in front of his face, "You are a CIA agent."

"Really?" the young woman said dispassionately. Her dark curls were beginning to fall out of the loose braid she had tied them back in, causing her to look younger then the twenty-five years she probably was. Something outside the window caught her attention and she craned her neck oddly to see it.

"You have to leave," she said suddenly. Her head snapped around to look Holmes in the eye. Lestrade started to speak but the woman cut her off. "You're right, Holmes. Mostly anyways; I’m ex-CIA. My name is Calista Richards and right now you need to respect my professional and get out of here. Now."

"You worked undercover as a Yard Inspector a couple years ago," Lestrade said suddenly.

Calista grimaced at the mention of the past job but nodded. "Yes, not my best work -- but you need to get out of here now."

"Why?" Lestrade demanded.

"I can’t tell you that."

"Classified information?"

"No, but it takes to long to explain."

"Humor me."

"Awhile back, I rescued someone from an... organization. Somehow they’ve managed to track me down and they’ve got blood on their minds! Now release me and get the hell out of here before they break down the door!" Calista's voice was hard and cold. Her sea-green eyes seemed to contain the intensity of a hurricane as she stared at Lestrade.

"Lestrade, we’d best follow the young woman’s advice," Holmes stated, suddenly cutting off any more arguing between the two women. The window shattered inwards, showering the occupants of the room with shards of glass. Calista yelled something Holmes couldn’t entirely decipher as a humanoid figure leapt up through the now non-existent window. When Holmes got a good look at the creature, his logical mind immediately rebelled; it was totally out of proportion. Arms and legs moved too gracefully for their long stick-like construction, and an oversized head was held far too high for the long spindly neck to support.

"Thief!" the thing yelled, walking up to Calista. The spy sneered in reply and was slapped hard across the face for her trouble. "Show respect to your elders, mortal!"

Calista snickered, "I’d say you were the one lacking in manners, Callengh. After all, you did just shatter Mr. Holmes' window."

Callengh’s china-white skin seemed to glow iridescently with anger, "Who told you my name?"

"A little birdy."

Holmes stood up silently and made his way to Lestrade. "Lestrade, deactivate those bonds. I fear we are putting Miss Richards at a severe disadvantage."

Lestrade didn’t argue as she touched the button on a device in her pocket. The neon-green energy bands dissipated and Calista surged out of the chair she had been accompanying and into Callengh’s midsection. The pair slammed into the couch and knocked it over. Calista’s hand shot out and grabbed the iron fire poker by the hearth. Callengh caught the cold iron rod as Calista swung it at him. The humanoid hissed like he had been burned and scrambled away in a panic.

"Get out!" Calista snarled, brandishing the poker like a sword. Callengh managed to climb to his feet but retreated with a wild gleam of panic in his eye. Calista glanced guiltily at the fallen couch and shattered window. Turning to Holmes, Lestrade, and Watson she gave an apologetic shrug and went on to explain, "That, ladies and gents, was a member of the Manx Sidhe."

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