[ EU ] Sherlock , as a personal favor to the president , heads over to the US to help solve this `` uncatchable '' serial killer in Miami . Luckily , Sherlock has the help of Dexter Morgan , their best blood analyst , to help him find the culprit .

`` He knows.'' 
 
 Dexter nervously tapped a pen against his desk, staring through the window of his office at the gathering of detectives. `` There's no way he could know.'' 
 
 Harry walked over and leaned against the desk, looking his son in the eye and crossing his arms. `` You knew this was a bad idea.'' 
 
 `` I had to intervene. The crimes were too similar.'' 
 
 `` That's exactly why you should have stayed out of it.'' 
 
 Dexter rubbed his temples and sighed. The guy was n't even a real cop.'Consulting Detective' or whatever the hell that means. Dexter had done his research. Mr. Holmes was all spectacle. Lots of showy if-thens piecing together puzzles from the inside out, making even the most simple of criminals out to be a devious mastermind. It was quite a trick really, convincing the world you're so great not by being great but by elevating those over whom you triumph as to make yourself appear even greater than they. 
 
 Still, that did n't explain why he and his little assistant got a first class trip on Air Force One to solve a simple string of killings. It's not as if the goings-on in Miami, Dexter's own activities included, had ever set off any major alarm bells before. There had to be something more to this to get the President himself involved. Harry stared out at the Consulting Detective, conferring with his associate in a frantic yet hushed nature. `` Be careful, Dexter. They do n't bring in specialists for nothing.'' 
 
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 `` We're being followed.'' 
 
 `` What?'' John Watson turned his head, looking behind him at the cars that trailed the rented sedan as it crossed the MacArthur Causeway into South Beach. `` Sherlock, look out!'' John had turned his head just in time to notice that Sherlock was staring back at the same cars and simultaneously drifting onto the shoulder. `` You know, there's a joke to be made about a Brit not knowing the right side of the road to drive on.'' 
 
 `` Well let's just assume you told that joke and I did n't laugh. We both know your sense of humor could use a little work.'' 
 
 `` Yes, my sense of humor. This from the man who once tried to trick me into eating a boiled duck fetus while passing it off as eggs and sausage *as a joke*.'' 
 
 `` I assure you if you had any knowledge of the Vietnamese cuisine and tradition, it'd have been quite funny......... plus, the look on your face was humor enough.'' Sherlock righted the car and glanced into the rearview mirror. It was very difficult to tell, but eight cars back, one lane over, there was a Ford Escape that appeared to be making deliberate and specific movements in harmony with Sherlock's own maneuvers. Noted. 
 
 Sherlock pointed out the car to John, who watched as it passed on by while the crime-solving duo exited onto Alton road. He had to admit, despite their seeming incompetence at first sight, the President's associates were quite adept at spinning a forced meeting into an international collaboration. It did make sense to him after all. With his skill focused mostly on Europe and the occasional foray into Asia, a few criminals were likely to slip through the cracks. 
 
 He was n't fond of the gun firmly planted at the back of his head while conversing with the President of the United States, but Sherlock could n't deny being intrigued by the copycat killings of a prolific serial murderer presumed dead in an explosion that obviously was not what it seemed. The body was supposedly unidentifiable, and Sherlock knew better than most that records can be faked and altered, and yet the new killings had subtle differences. The distance between the serrations in the blades used. The drop point being several kilometers down-current from the others. 
 
 Perhaps this... James Doakes was evolving. Or perhaps he was n't the Bay Harbor Butcher.
