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A Bit Not Good	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2924 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter List
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“Well Sherlock... we’ve gotten a murder and kidnapping case... and it’s one I think you should see....”

“John and I are on our way, text me the address.” he hung up without waiting for an answer and tucked the mobile back in his pocket. “Lestrade’s got a murder for us.” he said, taking one more bite and signalling Angelo for the bill. The man just waved him on and Sherlock smiled before nodding his thanks and standing. “I guess it’s back in the old swing of things, us leaving without you finishing a meal.” His smile was wicked as he held his hand out to the man.

John simply shrugged, taking one last hurried bite. Taking the offered hand, pulling him from the bench-seat, "What's new?" But he knew Sherlock had a fair reason to comment on his eating habits as of late. "I'll just eat something when we get home tonight. We did go shopping if you recall ."

Then he moved on, falling into another easy role for the man, that of Sherlock Holmes assistant and blogger. "Did he give you any details? I'm surprised they called you so fast, sort of expected him to make you wait it out."

The thing was, John was just as excited as Sherlock. As he stood and donned his coat he could feel his pulse picking up, his smile matching Sherlocks.

“No details, He just said it was something I should see.” his phone chirped and he checked it as the left the restaurant. “That’s the directions. It’s not far from here actually.. we can walk... I know a shortcut.” and with that, he took off at a brisk walk, swerving through traffic and behind buildings until they finally emerged on a small side street where the front stoop of a home had been blocked off by police tape. He strode forward and under the tape, holding it for John as they were greeted by two familiar faces.

“So... the freak lives.” Donovan sneered as she and Anderson came up to flank them.

“Always a pleasure to see you Sergeant.” he said evenly as he kept up his pace. “Where’s Lestrade?” He didn’t want to waste time, the game was afoot.

"Inside," Anderson drawled, then he turned on John. "You know you had us all fooled, I really thought you were heartbroken over the sod."

Donovan continued before either man could interject. "Can't believe I actually felt bad for you," she glared between the two of them before settling on John. "I warned you not to get mixed up with him, what was it even for? Political stunt?," she was glaring at them both now, "Your names just weren't big enough?"

John had only maintained contact with Lestrade after everything happened, he knew those two were trouble, but to be this cruel was low, even for them. "Oh fuck off, the both of you," John practically growled taking a side step so he was leering forward in front of Sherlock protectively. What were they insinuating anyways? That they had done all this on purpose, that John had been a part of it?

Sherlock was glad John stepped in front of him, because he had been about to rip someone’s head off. After a moment he placed his arm over John’s and stepped around him, pushing the smaller man back with ease. His voice low enough that only the two he was directing his words to could hear him.

“John didn’t know. Now I can’t legally hit Donovan, seeing as she’s a woman, even if she does have your bollocks in her pocket, but I have no hesitation to beat you within an inch of your pathetic waste of a life. I don’t care what you say about me. You don’t understand, and you’re ignorance is plain, but I swear if you say anything more about John, I can not be held responsible for my actions...” He had a hand on each officer’s shoulders, and his hands squeezed tightly, dangerously as he pushed through them.

“Come John!” he called back as he walked with more spring in his step seeing the obvious unease in their eyes.

Sherlock had made sure John couldn’t hear what he was saying to Donovan and Anderson, but when he pushed through them they looked to John as if he may have threatened not only their lives but the lives of their posterity as well. The doctor couldn’t help but smirk as he pushed through them with only a slight limp. He was no longer leaning on his cane, merely carrying it along with him, the game distracting him to some extent.

Once inside, they found Lestrade in the sitting room where a brunette woman with curly hair lay face down on the carpet in a pool of blood. An oddly burnt smell filtered through his nostrils that he couldn’t quite place. It was almost sour and bitter in his sinuses. Rubbing a hand over his nose, the consulting detective scanned the room for evidence. The words GET SHERLOCK with a smile painted in the O sprayed on the wall with white spray paint. That was the most obvious clue in the room, however, as he looked around he could piece together this woman’s life.

Single, living with a flatmate, name tag on the table suggested she was a scientist. Name: Sherly Howard. No pets. Couch was worn down on one side but in a larger area correlating to the size of a pair of female’s hips, suggesting she and her flatmate got along well together.

Several other things became apparent as he looked at the woman. Her flatmate was more than a friend, they were lovers, this woman didn’t wear makeup, so she cared little about her appearance or what others cared of her, and the lacerations on her wrists and inner arms suggested attempted suicide in her youth as well as habitual drug use. He stood and turned to Lestrade.

“What can you tell me that I don’t already know?” He asked.

John scoffed at Sherlock’s question, it was unlikely there was much Lestrade and his team could have found thus far that Sherlock had not already seen.

“Well, it looks like a Moriarty copycat. I’m sure you figured out she has a roommate. Joan Wilson was reported missing last night.” he was interrupted by the detective

“She’s not her room mate, she’s her lov- wait... what did you say her name was?”

“Joan Wilson... why?”

When Lystrade repeated the name John stopped looking around the room, his brow furrowed, no, he thought, that couldn’t be it.

Sherlock's eyes flitted around the room, searching for a photo. Finally he saw one above the mantle of two women. The brunette was considerably taller than the other woman who had short blonde hair and a pair of bright blue eyes. Sherlock’s eyes widened as he turned to look at John to see if he followed Sherlock’s train of thought.

“Bloody hell,” John breathed out softly as Sherlock turned, their eyes met and they exchanged an understanding in an instant. They’re us, They died because they are like us. “Sherlock they can’t honestly have died just because. . . “ They looked like us? Lived like us? He couldn’t bring himself to say it. His hand fell to the edge of the desk beside him, holding his weight as he felt as if his knee was about ready to give out on him. “Well, Moriarty is dead so how the hell did someone find out you were alive this quickly? And what are they trying to do? Threaten us?"

Sherlock shook his head. "They aren't both dead." He said looking around the room. A few blonde hairs here, a scratch here, the rug askew. "She was taken. I don't believe they are trying to threaten us more than draw our attention." He ran through the flat looking at seemingly miniscule things, finally he threw himself face first on the floor near the door.

"Evidence bag! He called loudly, holding his hand out for someone to drop it in his hand. Once it was deposited he picked up a few pieces of grass and the small bud of a tiny flower, sliding them in the bag and zipping it closed.

He returned to the other men, holding the bag aloft. "If this is what I think it is, this only grows in two places in England... And compared with the brick dust I found, I think I might know where Joan was taken...."

Lestrade and his team weren’t even given a chance to answer the question. John had been watching Sherlock’s actions carefully, trying to follow the thought processes as best he could as Sherlock worked his way across the room, noticing seemingly inconsequential facts until they lined up in his mind like a twisted sort of puzzle. This was their first case being back and John didn’t want to fall behind. It was obvious the consulting detective hadn’t lost his touch.

“Where? You’re sure she’s alive?” John was mentally gearing up for the confrontation, acutely aware that he needed to start caring his hand gun again.

Sherlock nodded, "An area not far from here. We're looking for a rundown industrial district in the Park Royal area. Does anybody know any places like that?" Sherlock cursed for the first time his status of deceased as the officers around him all shook their heads. He couldn't utilize his homeless network.

"An old tire factory shut down about two years ago." Lestrade offered.

Sherlock whirled around in a circle, smelling the air. "That would explain the scent I couldn't place when I walked in. It's oily rubber. I should have known. Quick! Let's go before this copycat has too much fun shall we? They couldn't have left here more than two hours ago..."

In Sherlock’s absence some of Lestrade's team had moved on to bigger and better things, save for Anderson and Donovan obviously. This meant that when Sherlock announced that there was no time to waste many of the newer officers simply looked at the odd couple invading their crime scene with raised eyebrows. As far as they were concerned, Sherlock had been a suspect before his faked death.

Again before Lestrade could step in John spoke, “Sorry, I think someone just told you where your victim is.” He was irate, but he stood, teeth clenched, for barely a moment before the team swung into action.

Turning back to Sherlock the blonde relaxed, running hand through his hair. “Let’s make sure we are in Lestrade’s car yeah? I don’t think I’m making many friends.”

“More than I am.” he said with a smirk, digging his hands into his pockets and strolling out the door where he knew the Detective Inspector would be waiting for them. The ride took a little less than half an hour as their sirens were on the whole way, and a sort of quiet settled over the cab of the car. Their first case together in three years. It was a bit like their first, a little awkward, and no one really seemed to want to talk.

When they arrived, Sherlock hopped out of the car with John close on his heels and started to head inside, but was quickly cut off by Lestrade. “Where do you think you’re going?” Sherlock tried to get around him but the man stepped in his way again. “You’re a civilian, there could be a murderer in there, let us go first.”

John had just been about to side with Lestrade when Sherlock interjected. “If there is a murderer in there, he’s a copycat of Moriarty, so who do you think he would rather see, me or your men?” Greg had to admit the man had a point. Begrudgingly he agreed to allow both Sherlock and John to accompany him inside, given they wear bulletproof vests at all times. Lestrade handed the army doctor a pistol similar to his own, knowing full well the doctor had packed his away for several reasons, and had yet to unpack it again.

“Thank you.” John’s voice was earnest, he despised being on a crime scene unarmed, and with Sherlock insisting on charging in this was the best thing Lestrade could have done for his sanity.

Catching Sherlock by the crook of his elbow he whispered feverishly, “This is our first case back. Don’t run off. Don’t try and take some psycho on by yourself. Just be careful, a little bit. At the very least keep near me.” John let go as one of the officers handed them each a vest, giving Sherlock one last pointed stare. He’d only just got the detective back, there was no way he was going to lose him this quickly.

Sherlock huffed at John’s words, but stayed close to the doctor’s side anyway. After donning their vests, the three of them headed into the old abandoned tire factory. There were machines against the wall, casting deceptive shadows, and stacks of tires everywhere. The air hung heavy with the same scent that had been present in the victims flat. Lestrade had a flashlight and was shining it from wall to wall, sweeping the entire large room for any sign of movement.

Finally, they heard the noises of someone rustling in one of the offices. Sherlock pointed, and Lestrade and John nodded as they moved towards the offices located at the center of the factory. Once there they found the door that led to the shuffling Lestrade threw up an arm to stop the other two, motioning them to check for trip wires. After a quick once over, Sherlock discovered a small booby trap that he disarmed easily enough, and gave Lestrade the go ahead.

The Detective Inspector barreled through the door, gun ready to shoot if necessary, and found there was nobody inside but the blonde girl from the apartment. John swept in after Lestrade, clearing the rest of the room. Sherlock had to physically stop himself from saying I told you so as Lestrade gave them the all clear sign, but his smug attitude slipped away as he stepped into the room.

The girl was alive, but barely. She had been cut very severely over the chest, right over her heart. Blood lay all around her, like whoever had done this had enjoyed themselves, cutting her from every angle, and turning the chair this way and that as they did making sure the blood was spread out all around her. An obvious replica of the royal family’s crown sat perched on her head, and a scepter was duct taped to her hand. Upon sighting them, she began struggling harder, trying to get them to help her, eyes wide and frightened.

Sherlock however was dumbstruck, a very rare state of being for the detective. He couldn’t move once his eyes caught sight of the sign around her neck. It was crude, just a piece of regular sized poster board with “You should see me in a crown” written across it in a fat black marker with harsh strokes. The statement was something Moriarty had said to him, and him alone. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he stood frozen just inside the door. Lestrade hurried forward to remove the sign and check the girl for explosives. As the sign fell to the ground Sherlock saw that there was a small envelope taped to the back. Once the girl had been cleared John ran forward, and began inspecting the damage to the girls chest, the doctor in him taking precedence in the moment while Lestrade worked at her bonds.

Sherlock moved forward slowly and pulled the note off the posterboard with shaking fingers Neither the doctor or the Detective Inspector were paying attention to him, and the blissful silence made his deductions come easier even with the storm raging in his mind screaming Impossible. It was the same stationary as was used on his first cases with Moriarty, a high quality paper from the Czech Republic. He ripped open the envelope and out fluttered a small piece of paper. On it written in tight spidery handwriting was a short rhyme and a message;

Moriarty sat on a wall. Sherlock Holmes had a great fall

but all Lestrade’s Horses, and All Mycroft’s men

Couldn’t put Watson together again...

You couldn’t leave well enough alone could you? I’m almost all of what’s left. I still owe you. Your heart is still alive...

-M

Sherlock dropped the letter to the floor, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d killed Moriarty right? RIGHT?!?! Fingers carded through dark curls, and he felt himself starting to panic.He was reminded of his time in Dublin, and worked hard to try and calm his heart rate, but his body would have none of it. The thought that everything he’d done had been in vain, that this man had bested him... it was too much. His breath was coming quicker and in tighter gasps and, his heart started pounding a bruise against his chest. The room started to spin, and Sherlock didn’t even bother murmuring an excuse as he headed outside. He needed air. Stumbling, he caught himself from falling twice before he made it to the door.

When he made it, sweat had started pouring from his skin, and some strange part of his mind wondered if John had been right and he’d exerted himself too much after his earlier relapse. It wasn’t until a lightbulb went off in his face that he realized the paparazzi were there. So lost in his mind, he hadn’t seen them or heard them as he had approached, and now a hundred cameras were flashing, and journalists were trying to get quotes. His anxiety flared and he tried to stammer no comment as his head began pounding relentlessly. So much for being discreet.

The lights going off in his eyes paired with the returning withdrawal was caused the world to spin beneath him, until finally he dropped to his knees, cradling his head in his hands to try and keep grips on reality. He was falling... falling... falling... he would hit the ground soon. He was going to die unless he got what he needed. Under the loose floorboard, deer skull, hidden in the false brick in the fireplace, between the rows of his sock index. His mind listed off all the places that he usually kept cocaine in the flat. He needed it. He needed a hit to clear his mind, to solve this problem. The pain in his stomach flared and he cried out as he wrapped his arms around his offensive innards, lights flashing in his peripheral vision not helping the waves of nausea .

He needed a hit, but he couldn’t have it. Why? There was some reason he didn’t have any drugs on him now. His fevered brain rushed to come to the conclusion. There was something, no someone he was stopping for. Someone who would be very disappointed if he took some of the white powder that would sing pleasantly through his veins. If he could get just one line.

NO!

The thought was so clear in his brain that it shocked him out of his needy haze, and he remembered the one thing that could ground him in that moment that wasn’t drugs, or harmful at all. He cried out for it, desperate to stop the falling feeling that was quickly returning.

“John!” his voice was weak and frightened, but no one in the crowd was the doctor, and he didn’t even know if the man was coming. He struggled to get to his feet, and moved back towards the building, away from the reporters, when a wall of flesh hindered his path. He began fighting, the mantra Get to John repeating in his mind. A pair of arms wrapped around him and he struggled, his eyes blurry and red, unable to see straight through his panic and need.

*****

For a few moments John Watson felt like his life was moving in slow motion. He had been pressing a piece of cloth to the young girls mutilated chest, trying to keep her from going into shock.

“Sherlock give the medical team the all clear!” John barely looked over his shoulder as he spoke, but when he did the sight caused him to do a double take. “Sherlock?!” The man was tearing through his hair, panic washed over his face in waves, and then he was gone, fleeing from the building.

“Shit. Somethings wrong with Sherlock,” Lestrade had finished with the tape holding her to the chair and took over pressing the cloth to her chest.

“Go! Just send in the team if he hasn’t.” Then again, a little more fervently he urged John, “GO” Stumbling to his feet, his limp and cane doing him no favors, John chased after Sherlock, pausing only to grab the paper Sherlock had dropped in his flurry and stuff it into his pocket He was just inside the door when he heard Sherlock calling out to him.

John ran into Sherlock in the doorway, but the detective didn’t seem to realize it was John’s arms wrapping around him. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, at some point during the girl’s rescue, the building had been surrounded by paparazzi, who at the moment were bearing down on Sherlock like he was a piece of meat.

Trying to calm Sherlock John rested his hands on his shoulders squeezing them tightly. “Sherlock, come on. We need to get out of here.” Lights flashed around them, John was sure they were getting some great scoop on why the detective was back. What the doctor didn’t think of was the story they would print now as John held Sherlock, their faces inches from each others as John attempted to pull the younger man back to reality.

Sherlock stopped fighting once he heard John’s voice, but it was very far off like he was shouting through a tunnel. His vision had darkened, and he couldn't see anything. Whether that was a side effect from his earlier withdrawals or a new development he wasn't sure. He felt his heart pounding up in his throat now. As the reporters swarmed around them he felt hot, and choking on the throbbing in his throat he tried to speak, but nothing more than a strangled groan would squeeze out of his mouth. The hands on him started spreading that warmth through his body again, but it was not helping the racing of his heart or his overwhelming need for the drug he knew would take the edge off of the pain, but he latched onto one of John’s arms with a death grip, his knuckles white with strain. His legs threatened to give out beneath him and he clung to the sturdiness of the soldier.

Where the hell had Lestrade’s team gone? John cursed again as he fought to hold the detective up on his feet, wrapping one arm around his thin torso. John had barely taken a step forward through the crowd when a black car with tinted windows rolled up right outside the circle of paparazzi.

The detective felt John wrap his arms around him and attempted to help the best he could, his head lolling towards the top of the doctor’s head. It was as if all the energy had been sapped from him and he couldn’t get it back. He wrapped a lanky arm around the doctor's neck and leaned heavily on him, allowing himself to be lead off somewhere unknown.

Anthea moved swiftly from the car, breaking through the hoard of people easily, like parting a sea. “Oh god Anthea am I glad to see you,” John breathed the words in heartfelt thanks. With her help they got Sherlock in the car and they were able to leave the hoard of people quickly.

As they pulled away John saw the police vehicles had moved to the back of the building, where they could reach Lestrade without being attacked by the paparazzi. Sherlock was still working through his panic so John grabbed for his hand. Holding it in between them he spoke to Sherlock, ignoring Anthea for the moment.

Series of groans and pained noises left Sherlock's lips as he was deposited into the seat. Losing Johns touch made him feel like he was lost and couldn't cry out to be found. When his hand was found he clenched his fingers in a tight grip, pulling himself towards the source. He was met with the solid form of Doctor Watson and he curled in on himself leaning against John’s sturdy frame.

“Focus on me Sherlock, alright, we’re gone. Just relax.” The doctor drew his bottom lip between his teeth nervously. This was all very not good.

Sherlock nodded, a miniscule movement of his head, and closed his eyes, trying to focus in the warmth and solidity of the man beside him. Almost unknowingly, his fingers moved, to avoid crushing John’s hand until their fingers were laced together. His face was buried in his knees, his feet up on the seat, and the fire of the doctor’s body heat flared up his back. It was grounding him a little but peace was far from forthcoming.

Shaking his head John turned to face Mycroft’s assistant. His voice was quivering slightly. “What the bloody hell just happened?”

"It looks like someone tipped them off." She said, her fingers flying over the keys of her phone as they sped away from the scene. "You'll be coming back to Mycroft's estate,” She continued, still focused on her phone, “I'm sure he'll want to talk with you both. . ." Her eyes flickered to Sherlock’s broken form clinging to John, “However, it would appear that meeting may need to wait until the morning."

Glancing to the side, John nodded in understanding. Sherlock’s eyes were clenched shut and he was gripping John’s arm in a death grip, the earlier tremors returning. With Anthea’s attention back on her phone John began softly whispering to the crumpled man. Reminding him he wasn’t alone and telling him to breath as he brushed his thick curls off his damp forehead.

It wasn’t long before they were pulling up to Mycroft’s estate, John scoffed as they rolled through an automatic gate. The place looked like it belonged to Mycroft. As they pulled up to the front of the round driveway John gave Sherlock a soft shake, attempting to rouse him enough so they could move inside.

Anthea led John, who was supporting Sherlock, inside the grand estate with little to do. Gesturing up the stairs with a nod she offered, “Second door on the right is set up for him.

Sherlock clung to John as they moved upstairs, but between Sherlock’s inability to fully support himself, and John’s ever present limp the process was slow moving and arduous. Once the detective was deposited on the bed, he curled up, holding on to the doctor, too worried about being lost in the darkness to allow himself to release him just yet. John needed to go find Mycroft, find out what the hell was going on, but as Sherlock latched on to him desperate for the connection John gave in. It didn’t take long for the exhaustion to settle over him, and once his muscles had relaxed,he was slumbering lightly, giving the smaller man the opportunity he needed.

Slipping from the room, closing the door carefully even thought it was unlikely Sherlock was about to be woken up by the click of door after the day he had had, John hurried down the stairs to find Anthea exactly where she had been when they had gone up.

He stalked up to her, determined to find answers. Tonight. “Where is he?”

“He says you can talk in the morning.” she mused nonchalantly.

“Where is he?” John repeated, a sort of venom creeping into his voice as Anthea continued to work away at her phone as though none of this was her issue.

She lowered her phone for a moment, her eyebrows raised at his tone. “He’s in the library, just there,” She pointed to a set of double doors half way down a hallway before turning on the spot and walking away.

Upon reaching the doors John didn’t bother with knocking. He pushed through the double doors into an office the size of their sitting room. The walls were lined with books and paintings, but John wasn’t interested in the décor. Spotting Mycroft behind a large ornate looking desk, he stomped over, throwing himself in one of the large chairs facing the desk. He glowered at Mycroft for a moment, not saying anything.

Finally, lacing his fingers together on the desk in front of him, Mycroft broke the silence. “This isn’t my fault John.” He was as calm and relaxed as ever.

John scoffed and chuckled darkly, “Oh really? I think we’ve been here before. You had no idea right? It wasn’t supposed to happen like this?”

Shifting in his seat, a seed of resent bubbling to the surface he refuted, “That wasn’t what you thought, you must know that by now. I had to give that information to Moriarty, it was part of the plan.”

“Part of the... No. This is not part of any plan.” John paused, taking in a shaky breath. “Have you seen him? And I don’t mean in passing, but have you actually spent time with him? Because if this was all part of your bloody plan Mycro-” the name got caught in his throat. Dropping his face to his hand John pinched at his brow trying to center himself before he spoke again. “How could you let him get this bad? What happened?”

“That was an unfortunate by product of the past three years, he’ll be fine.” Mycroft spoke as though the emotional damage was inconsequential.

John shook his head, breathing heavily, he wanted to ask about the past, and he would, but not now, not yet. “So, tonight. Not many people knew he was back. Just you, Lestrade and me. I didn’t tell anyone, but somehow there is a psychopath pretending to Moriarty, leaving these... these sick clues. So if I didn’t tell anyone he was back, how did the media find us? How did this psychopath know how to get to us?” He was on the verge of yelling as Mycroft sat, still and calm as ever.

“I don’t know John, I’m working on it.” He punctuated the end of his sentence menacingly, as if challenging John to question his abilities.

John stood, slamming a heavy fist down on the front of the wooden desk with a resounding thud. “That’s not good enough!”

Mycroft craned his neck to the side, slightly perplexed by the man who was normally reeling Sherock in. This side of the doctor was new. “I have all of my resources working to figure out just what happened tonight. For the moment, we can assume it is some sort of copycat, but that can be better discussed tomorrow, with Sherlock. Obviously there was something about the crime scene that set him off. Besides, I may have more information about how our secret got out at that time. Now I implore you, John, please sit. “ When the man refused, Mycroft insisted, “You want me to tell you what has been going on, what my baby brother has been doing these past few years, this is my requirement.”

John hesitated for a moment longer, before giving a curt nod and taking a seat, slightly deflated, his anger ebbing away as curiosity overtook him.

Once his demand had been met, Mycroft leaned forward, steepling his fingers together, reminiscent of his younger brother, and eyed John for a few more thoughtful moments before speaking. “I tell you this out of confidence Doctor Watson, for my brother has decided not to tell you this for whatever reason, and I can only assume that you will not stop pestering me until you know. You must not let him know you are aware of it, or I fear it could prove detrimental to his recovery....” He leaned back in his chair then, crossing his left foot over his knee. It took him another long moment, and it looked as if he was steeling himself for the responses he knew would come.

John hesitated, would he be able to hide the fact that he knew the truth from Sherlock? Had he ever been able to hide anything from Sherlock? It didn’t matter though, right now he needed to be able to get Sherlock through this in one piece. Dropping the last of his defenses John nodded, urging Mycroft to go on.

“For the past three years Sherlock has been protecting you and a few others from Moriarty’s men. The man died on the rooftop that day, yes, but as Sherlock said, he was a spider, and to truly destroy him his entire criminal web had to be... eliminated.” He paused for a moment, letting the idea sink in. “The jump itself was staged of course. Took a tremendous amount of leg work, a lot of hushing up, but it was... What did Sherlock call it? Ah yes. A magic trick. Since that day Sherlock has spent his time in shadow and squalor hunting down and either killing or handing over almost every member of Jim Moriarty’s web to stop them from coming back and trying to finish what he started. He has spent that time making it safe for him to come back to London. “

Pushing himself forward in the armchair John’s features pinched together in confusion, “Safe? Mycroft he wasn’t safe out there. I don’t-” pausing John breathed out heavily. He was finally able to ask the question that had been eating at him for three years. “Why? Why did he have to jump? Couldn’t we have dealt with it here? Don’t you have teams that deal with this sort of thing?”

“Moriarty had Detective Inspector Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and yourself as hostages without your knowledge. Moriarty wanted to destroy Sherlock, so he proposed an ultimatum for my brother. In short, it was his life, or yours. He jumped to save you John. Well, you and others, but I can almost guarantee you that you were the predominant thought in his mind.” Leaning back into his chair the elder Holmes let out a breath before going on, a lighter tone to his voice. “While he was... away he often talked of you. You were the only one he wanted me to keep my eye on. It’s why I was always meddled in your business.”

Raking a hand through his hair as his head slipped forward John thought back on all the times Mycroft had butted into his life, insisting on helping in anyway he could. For a long time John had believed it to be the actions of a guilty man. John almost couldn’t believe the Holmes boys, the ones who had despised sentiment so candidly had essentially spent the past three years of their lives serving others. Looking back up at Mycroft John opened his mouth, then shut it again, trying to form the question on his mind.

Mycroft sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before he continued once more.“And perhaps your last question. Why didn’t anybody tell you? Why did we keep it a secret? Because they had to see you grieve John. I stopped him from coming back to you, I lied to him about how you were doing so he wouldn’t jeopardize what he had to do for your sake. If they had not seen you grieve for him, if they hadn’t believed he was truly dead... you and I would have lost more than we could ever bear in a hundred lifetimes...” his eyes flickered towards the door, then back to John.

A sort of pain hid in John’s eyes now, he had known that things had been difficult for Sherlock, but speculation is far easier to handle than the truth. “What about him, Mycroft? He’s fallen apart at the seams, you do know about the drugs yeah? We got him back and trust me I’m thankful for that. But at what cost?”

“Yes... I am painfully aware of everything he has been doing to himself. My baby brother picked his drug habit up again to cope with what he had to do. No matter what mask he puts on, you and I both know he’s human, and he had to cross a lot of lines no one should have touch. Not to mention the guilt of putting the few people he might care about through hell. I believe the opioid dependency is partly due to the pain he endured at times. There were a few occasions, in order to get close enough to the target he would allow himself to be tortured and interrogated. It worked, but... Well I’m sure you’ve seen the scars by now,” He leaned forward once more, arms resting on the desk before him. John was speechless, horrified as he thought of the deep scars jutting across Sherlock’s back.

“In the end, I would ask you to quit prying now that you know. I am sure he did not want to burden you with this knowledge, because he feared you might see him differently if you knew. I implore you to quell your curiosity and just help him recover, because you seem to be the only one who can. God knows he won’t let me. . . .” He trailed off looking out the window.

Suddenly quite desperate to return to Sherlock, John stood, “I’ll do everything I can. Now if that’s all. . “ he left the open sentence, waiting for the older man to release him, an old military habit.

Mycroft didn’t move his attention, still staring listlessly out the window. “Yes. Everything else can be discussed in the morning with Sherlock. We still have much to go over.”

John gave a short nod before hurrying from the large office to the spare room where he had left Sherlock. He paused for a moment outside the door, his hand on the decorative knob, to still his mind. The last thing he needed to do at the moment was give away the fact that Sherlock’s demons were no longer his secrets.

Pushing the door open softly John crept into the dark room. He only bothered stopping to lose his shoes and coat before slipping between the covers quickly finding Sherlock and resting his arm over the detectives torso.

Sherlock felt the movement of the sheets and slowly blinked into wakefulness as an arm stretched over his body. He shifted a little, his voice quiet and raw as he spoke, “John?”

John shifted closer, tucking his hand under the other side of Sherlock’s body, forcing them closer. “Yeah I’m here. We’re at your brother’s, everything’s fine though. You alright?” John’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Marginally.” he said softly, one hand coming down to follow John’s and tuck under his body as well, just above the doctor’s so that they were touching all the way down their arms, “What about you?” He could tell there was something wrong with the tension in the other’s body, “You seem upset... did you and Mycroft have a row?”

“When do I ever get along with Mycroft?” John teased, not wanting Sherlock to have any reason to suspect the truth. “But no, just. . .” he paused, letting out a heavy breath. “A lot happened today, that’s all.”

Sherlock rolled over in John’s arms, so that he could look into blue eyes. It was difficult in the dark, but he felt better facing the other man. “You shouldn’t be worrying about this. It seems I have forced you to take care of me twice and I...” He trailed off, not certain how he had originally intended to end that statement, instead of speaking, his own slender arms moved around John, pulling him into a gentle hug, arms loose so the man could pull away if he felt uncomfortable.This was enough to show what he meant. John would understand.

To John’s own amazement, he nuzzled into the embrace a bit, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder, his body relaxed slightly. A part of him knew that this was far beyond comfort, that their relationship was shifting into something new, but John didn’t really care anymore. “Don’t. You don’t need to apologize, I’m not upset about anything you’ve done. Understand?”

Sherlock tipped his head down to bury his nose in the silkiness of John’s hair, his arms pulling the other closer now that he knew he wouldn’t run away. The smell of his flatmate surrounded him and wrapped him in a cocoon of comfort. There was something purely John about it, and he thought that it was going to lull him back to sleep on it’s own. “I understand...”

“Good.” John quipped, “Now, try and get some sleep. I have a feeling you aren’t going to enjoy tomorrow, especially considering we get to wake up and spend it with your brother.” John knew it didn’t matter what Mycroft had done over the past three years, he still irritated the hell out of Sherlock. Tomorrow was sure to be interesting.

Sherlock was halfway asleep as he murmured his last words, tucking his nose against John’s forehead as he drifted off, “Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up. That you won’t disappear like this morning.” And he was gone, breathing evenly and body fully relaxed in sleep.

“I promise.” John whispered the words, knowing the man beside him was already asleep.

Notes:

There have been a lot of people reading our fic lately.. We really hope you are enjoying it as much as we are.

We are just about done editing part one now, just finishing the last few chapters, and then we will probably start posting it a bit faster. That being said, there will be a short hiatus between part 1 and 2, we have a lot of work to do on Part 2 so it's necessary. I can promise it will be no longer than a month.

Today you guys get chapters 9 and 10.. and after that we only have 8 chapters left <3 We are over half way there.

Also the note in this was inspired by http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Fmq8ZXieJ0
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A Bit Not Good