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Hunting the Hunter	By : LadyLaran Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 1961 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "Sherlock" as that belongs to the BBC. I make no money from this!

Chapter List
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Author’s Note – This plot wombat was actually introduced to me by Lestradesexwife in the Antidiogenes club’s chat room. She gave me the idea and her blessing to run with it, so I hope I do well. This story is for her! Thanks to everyone in the club for their support. Without all the advice and the writing wars, I wouldn’t have gotten this far.
Disclaimer – I do not own “Sherlock” at all. That privilege goes to the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I only get enjoyment from writing this and do not earn money from this story at all.
Chapter One – The Start of the Hunt
A tall figure stood in front of the office window, blue-gray eyes somewhat unfocused as his mind churned over the reports he’d been given the day before. The well-dressed gentleman did not notice the overcast sky that threatened London because he was lost in thought, pondering over the events that he had been made aware of and trying to decide what to do. He was very much aware of the gaze of his personal assistant each time she entered his domain with more paperwork for him to look over.
“Victoria?”
The dark haired woman looked up sharply from where she was arranging the files on the antique desk, startled by her employer’s voice. He had not spoken since the night before, and she was certain he had not gone home to rest since a certain file had been handed to him. Despite the crisp suit and well groomed appearance, the assistant could see the lines of fatigue and stress on the man’s face.
“Yes, sir?”
“Have Dr. Watson brought to me,” he said, not moving from his position.
Victoria paused at the order, contemplating on whether or not she should do such a thing. No one in Mycroft Holmes’s office was safe from the fiery anger of the grieving physician.
“Considering his reaction the last time your path crossed with his, sir, that might not be an easy task. If you recall, he stated that he had no desire to be around you or anyone who worked for you,” she responded. It had taken four people to pull the enraged physician off of Mycroft, and that had resulted in quite a few injuries for everyone involved. Her boss had suffered through cracked ribs and a broken nose, though he’d said nothing to anyone about it.
“Inform him that there has been new information brought to light regarding the spider,” the auburn haired male told the other. “That should be enough for his curiosity to overcome his rage and grief, and he’ll come to me in order to learn whatever it is I have to share.”
“As you wish, sir,” she said, not sounding convinced at all. Hazard pay was part of her employment package, but she wasn’t sure that the fury of one John Watson was covered by that or her health benefits.
The personal assistant headed out, using one of the usual black sedans her employer favored. Though she didn’t look it, she was rather nervous about this assignment. Her clearance wasn’t as high as Mr. Holmes’s, but she had enough to know that the grieving doctor was a lot more than most people thought he was.
The car soon pulled in front of 221 Baker Street, and Victoria got out. For once, her mobile was tucked into her jacket pocket and she found herself missing the familiar weight in her hand. After drawing a breath, the personal assistant rang the doorbell and waited.
A few moments later, the door was opened by a familiar looking male. Blue eyes stared coldly at her for a moment, making her hide a shiver.
“I don’t care what he wants; I have no desire to see or speak with Mycroft Holmes.”
Victoria called out before the door could close, hoping the message would intrigue the man enough to come with her.
“Mr. Holmes said to tell you that more information about the spider has come to light. He really must talk to you, doctor.”
The heavy door paused, and John looked at her for several long moments. She wasn’t sure what it was that he was looking for, but he must have found it since he nodded.
“Let me get my jacket,” he said, closing the door. She stood on the front step, waiting for several long moments before the man came out, shrugging his coat into proper position on his shoulders.
John said nothing to her after he locked the front door, moving to the black car that the assistant had ridden in. Honestly, did Mycroft not like any other colors besides black? He said nothing, opening the door for the woman to enter first before getting into the comfortable backseat.
The ride was spent in silence with only the occasional click of keys from the blackberry the woman kept with her. He passed the time staring out of the window, wondering what it was that the older Holmes brother wanted to tell him.
Once they had arrived, the physician climbed out of the car and waited until the assistant led him into the large building. He was quiet, observing all the details as the pair of them walked through the lobby to the lift.
Victoria led him out of the lift, down a long hall into a beautifully decorated waiting area. She tapped on a door, then entered.
“Dr. Watson for you, Mr. Holmes.”
“Send him in, Victoria, and thank you,” the auburn haired male said, turning when his brother’s friend came into the office. “Thank you for coming,” Mycroft began, coming to a halt when John raised a hand.
“Cut the shite, Mycroft. Why am I here?”
The politician gestured to a chair, moving away from the window to take a seat behind his desk.
“I received a file last night that took me by surprise,” he began. “There is a possibility that my brother may still be alive.”
The former military man straightened, staring at the other with a mix of emotions in his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
Slender fingers plucked a file from the pile that was waiting for him on his desk. He opened it, looking tired and concerned.
“There’s been signs of his presence in Wales,” Mycroft began. “Or so my agents think. Take a look,” he said, handing the file to the other.
John read through the documents, hope trying to build within his heart. He tamped down on it, knowing that anyone could have had enough of Moriarty’s tricks and gone after certain aspects of the criminal element.
“I concede that it’s possible it could be him,” he said, looking up at the blue-gray eyed male. “However, you and I both know that the fall he took is nearly always fatal and I was the one who took his pulse. He was gone, remember?”
“You were pushed out of the way fairly quickly too,” he reminded him. “My brother is intelligent enough to stage his own demise, especially if he had assistance from one or more outside source.”
The doctor frowned, staring down at the file in his hands. His jaw tightened as he struggled with the memory of that horrible time outside of St. Bart’s.
“What is it you want from me?”
Mycroft was quiet for a moment, contemplating his next words. This had to be handled delicately as he needed John’s assistance.
“It’s distinctly possible that I have at least one mole in my organization so I cannot send anyone in my employ out to determine if this suspicion about my brother is true.”
“So you want me to investigate and see if Sherlock is still alive? If he is, Mycroft, what then?”
Blue-gray eyes met blue, resolution shining in both pair of eyes as they held.
“If he is, we will ensure he gets the assistance he needs in his mission and I will clean house here in England to pave his way for when he returns home. Plans can be made once you have a definitive answer regarding the first question.”
John looked at his watch, noting the time. He knew exactly where to start his investigation.
“I’ll investigate this, but I’m not doing it for you.”
The other male’s voice was soft, carrying a note of raw pain and guilt.
“I have a lot to atone for, Dr. Watson. I know this all too well. I just hope that you turn up with an answer that will allow me to do so.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out,” the physician answered, climbing to his feet. He paused when a small card was handed to him.
“This is the number to my private mobile,” Mycroft said. “No one except for family has this, and the number is secure.”
John entered the number into his own mobile, handing the card back to him. He could appreciate the need for secrecy and would hold to it. Once done, he headed out of the office, going downstairs to catch a taxi.
“St. Bart’s,” he ordered the driver, settling in to get comfortable as the cab pulled away from the kerb to head to the destination requested. John sighed, forcing himself to focus on the upcoming task. There was a lot of hope trying to build inside his heart, and he was struggling to be realistic. The last thing he wanted was to have that hope destroyed; the physician wasn’t sure he’d survive being broken again.
If Sherlock had faked his death, then there was one individual that the detective would have roped in to help him. John knew she had to have a hand in it, and he would have to keep his calm if she did. This investigation was not going to be easy on him.
The doctor paid the cabbie, giving a tip as well, and exited the vehicle. He entered the hospital, ignoring the familiar hallways that he’d spent so much time in. He moved quietly, going into the morgue and startling both Molly and the detective inspector with her.
“Greg, Molly,” the physician greeted, moving to stand by the table. He hadn’t expected Lestrade to be there but pushed that out of the way.
“Hi John, it’s good to see you,” Greg said warmly. John had been rather standoffish and reclusive since Sherlock’s death, and he’d been trying to get his friend out. The detective knew that the doctor was still angry by what had happened at New Scotland Yard regarding Sherlock, and Lestrade did not blame him at all.
“He’s right, it is good to see you,” the woman said with a gentle smile. “What brings you down here?”
“Sherlock,” he answered bluntly, watching Molly’s reaction. She’d managed to keep most of her expression under control, but John could see a faint look of panic in her eyes.
“What about him?”
John leaned in, eyes boring into hers. He could tell Lestrade was watching, frowning as he did so. It seemed the police detective was as caught off guard as Molly was.
“Information came in that he might still be alive, Molly. I want to know how that is possible.”
“Alive,” she squeaked, looking more and more uncomfortable.
“Oh my god,” Greg muttered, sinking onto a stool as he realized what John was hinting at. “Molly, what the hell is going on?”
The former RAMC officer didn’t let her look away, keeping firm eye contact with the panicking woman.
“How did Sherlock do it, Molly? I know it had to be you. You’re the only one he trusted who could have helped him fake his death. I need the details.”
“I can’t,” she managed to squeak out. “I made a promise.”
“His life is in danger, Molly Hooper, and the longer you sit here, hiding this information, the worse the situation becomes,” he said, pulling on his captain’s voice. “Now, tell me everything I need to know.”
“It was Moriarty’s fault,” she said, tears in her voice. “Sherlock came to me, struggling to put a plan together to try to protect everyone. There were snipers involved – one for Mrs. Hudson, one for DI Lestrade, and one for you. He knew that if he didn’t find a way to convince people he was dead, then he’d lose three people who are important to him. He’d hoped that Moriarty would give him the information he needed, but he killed himself and left Sherlock to jump in order to keep you safe.”
Molly drew in a deep breath, struggling to calm herself down.
“Bloody hell,” the detective inspector said, staring at the woman. “Molly, this is unbelievable.”
“I know, but there was no choice. We made arrangements with his homeless network to help cushion the fall, then get him into proper position before John got to him. A few were tasked with delaying John’s arrival to give them enough time to make sure the scene was set. All eyes would be on him instead of Sherlock, and that enabled us to get it done and not tip off the snipers. I made sure he was loaded onto the ambulance fairly quickly and given my position down here, I could sign off on his death certificate without alerting anyone that there was a problem.”
John stared at Lestrade, who was staring back at him. It was obvious that both men were very unhappy with what they’d heard. Greg had been hurt by Sherlock’s suicide but had taken it harder because he knew that John would not handle the detective’s death well.
“Where is he, Molly?”
“I don’t know, Lestrade, I really don’t. He picked up his pack from my flat and left. All I know is that he said he had to dismantle Moriarty’s syndicate before he could think about coming home.”
“He gave no clues as to where he went?”
“No, John, he didn’t. I would tell you if he did,” she said, struggling to keep her tears back.
“Right then, thank you, Molly,” the physician said, straightening up.
“Where are you going,” Greg asked, getting up off the stool as he queried his friend.
“Talk to Mycroft and then see if I can’t locate the idiot before he gets himself killed for real,” John said, fishing for his mobile.
“I’m coming with you,” the police detective said, tone showing that he would not be talked out of it. Like John, he was not going to let Sherlock do anything else that might cause his death.
“Right, let’s go then.”
The two men left the morgue, and John began texting Mycroft with the need for a car. He wasn’t going to put himself or Lestrade at risk until they got the information to the older Holmes brother and plans could be made about finding the missing consulting detective.
Author’s End Note – I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I think this is going to end up being a series of stories. Otherwise, it’ll be one massively gigantic tale and a trifle unwieldy for me to handle. Anyway, please let me know what you think. See you next chapter! ~ Laran
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Hunting the Hunter