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Chapter Text

Alice took a deep breath and took her first steps out of the underground station and into the city. A break, that's what she needed. A break from her life in DC, a chance to find herself again, and a change of scenery- somewhere that wouldn't remind her of her past.

Alice stood outside 221 Baker Street, taking in her surroundings. London was more smoker-friendly than what she was used to in DC, but the streets were cleaner. Maybe it was jetlag or the lack of sleep, but something felt off and her senses were running wild. The opening of the front door quickly pulled Alice away from her inner thoughts. 

"You must be Alice!” Mrs. Hudson smiled as she hugged the young woman. “Your grandmother has told me all about you. The photos she sends don't do you justice. Come in, come in!” Alice quickly grabbed her luggage and followed the little old lady into the building.

”Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I appreciate you letting me stay with you while I’m in the country.” Alice said as Mrs. Hudson led her downstairs to the basement flat. 

“Oh don’t worry dear. The basement is hardly ever taken due to the damp. I am just happy to have someone occupy it for a while. I'll let you have some time to settle in but feel free to join me upstairs for some biscuits and tea," 

“That would be wonderful, Ms. Hudson, thank you.”

221c Baker Street had its own little charm. The flat consisted of a small kitchen and dining area, a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room, and an empty spare room in the back.  It was more than enough for Alice, who was expecting to sleep on a couch or air mattress. Once Mrs. Hudson left, Alice began to unpack her things. After an hour, her clothes hung in the small closet while others were placed in a chest of drawers. Her toiletries rested in the small cabinet in the bathroom and her suitcase lied underneath the bed. Satisfied with her work, she headed upstairs to join Mrs. Hudson for tea.

”How is your grandmother?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she poured Alice a cup of earl grey tea. “I haven’t seen her since I was last in America for my husband’s trial,”

“Thank you,” Alice said, taking the cup. “She’s doing good actually. She's keeping herself busy; doing crosswords, visiting friends, nothing out of the ordinary,"

"You should have seen her when we were young girls," Mrs. Hudson giggled, "Oh, how the boys fought over her, she would turn them all down of course. Hazel was quite the heartbreaker,"

 "That does sound like her," Alice smiled, "She mentioned that you have tenants upstairs, what are their-"

"Mrs.Hudson" a deep baritone voice called from the second floor of the building. Alice could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. A tall man with dark brown hair and a shorter sandy-haired man entered Mrs. Hudson's tiny kitchen.

"Mrs. Hudson? Oh, who's this?" the shorter man asked looking at Alice.

"This is Alice, she's the granddaughter of an old friend." Mrs. Hudson replied. "She'll be staying here for a few months,"

"It's nice to meet you both." Alice smiled getting up from the table.

"John Watson," John introduced himself, holding out his hand. Alice smiled and shook it. "And that is Sherlock Holmes. We live in the flat upstairs. So if you need anything or just fancy a conversation, feel free to come up." John motioned to Sherlock who was on his phone.

"Nope," Sherlock spoke, continuing to stare at his phone. He quickly glanced at Alice and took note, placing his phone in his coat pocket. "American, mid-to-late-twenties, college graduate, hasn't slept in twelve hours, took the underground here from Heathrow airport, quite boring really..."

"Sherlock, give it a rest will you?" John interrupted Sherlock before turning back to Alice. "I'm sorry about him."

"No worries," Alice replied before turning to Sherlock. "I have no issues with an arrogant man in his early thirties who believes himself to be a genius despite his obvious shortcomings. You obviously are eager to be leaving the building with John here. So I won't hold you up any longer. After all, I am rather boring," Alice smirked as she saw Sherlock's shocked face. She then turned towards John with a relaxed look on her face. "Thank you, John, for the invitation. I hope to get to know you better as you seem much more tolerable." She placed her cup and saucer in the sink and thanked Mrs. Hudson once again for her hospitality before heading back down to her new flat.

John watched as she left, his face full of shock and confusion. He was used to the Holmes brothers' intelligence but to see deductions done by someone else was shocking.

"Sherlock..." Mrs.Hudson began to chastise. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and left Mr. Hudson's flat.

"That was unnecessary. She just got here, you didn't have to go on and insult her like that." John leaned against the wall by the front door like a father disciplining a toddler.

"I wasn't too harsh on her and did you not notice how she did the same to me?" Sherlock retorted as he adjusted the scarf around his neck.

"Yes because you were asking for it."

"No, she deduced me, albeit not as well as she could have. She's hiding something, but we can deal with that later. Now," Sherlock pulled out three photographs of the cipher from his coat and showed it to John. "We can't crack this code without Soo Lin Yao."

Alice sat in on the couch in her flat with her computer in front of her. She quickly pulled up Google and typed Sherlock and John's names into the search bar. The first two results were of their separate blogs. Intrigued, she clicked on Sherlock's blog first.

Chapter Text

Sherlock and John stood in one of the display rooms of the National Antiquities Museum across from Soo Lin Yao's coworker Andy. "Look, I've tried everywhere: friends, colleagues. I don't know where she's gone. She could be a thousand miles away." Andy fidgeted nervously as he spoke. Sherlock turned away in annoyance, his eyes focused on the glass case displaying teapots.

"Sherlock? What are you looking at?" John asked.

"Tell me more about those teapots," Sherlock ordered, pointing towards the case. 

"The pots were her obsession. They need urgent work. If they dry out, then the clay can starts to crumble. Apparently, you just have to keep making tea in them." 

Sherlock bent down to observe the shelf more closely. "Yesterday, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two,"

******

As soon as the lights went out in the museum, fingers reached through the grating at the bottom of the wall. Soo Lin quietly slipped out from the grating and walked towards the glass case. Gently, she took a teapot out of the case and placed it on her desk; preparing to continue her work before she went into hiding.  Soo Lin picked up the teapot and poured some of the tea onto a pair of clay cups, swilling the teapot around to cover the outside.

"Fancy a biscuit with that?" Sherlock appeared behind her. Soo Lin gasped as she turned towards the voice, nearly dropping the teapot. "Centuries-old. Wouldn't want to break that." He said as he caught the teapot before it could hit the floor. Sherlock stood back up and handed the teapot back to Soo Lin. "Hello". 

John and Sherlock sat across from Soo Lin at her desk in the restoration room. "You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me." Soo Lin played with her hands. 

"You've been clever enough to avoid him so far," Sherlock replied.

"I had to finish- to finish this work. It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me" Soo Lin explained 

"Who is he? Have you met him before?"

Soo Lin nodded. "I knew him when I was a girl, living back in China. I recognize his... signature."

"The cipher"

"Only he would do this: Zhi Zhu." Soo Lin continued to explain.

"Zhi Zhu?" John questioned.

"The Spider," Sherlock replied to his blogger as Soo Lin took off her shoe to show them a tattoo on her right heel.

"You know this mark?" She asked, pointing to the tattoo that resembled a lotus flower encompassed in a circle.

"Yes, it's the mark of a Tong," Sherlock answered. "an ancient crime syndicate, based in China." He explained further to John, who had a confused look on his face.

"Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them."

"Hauls?" John asked, confused once again. Soo Lin looked up at him as he connected the dots. "You mean you were a smuggler?"  

Soo Lin looked down in shame as she put her shoe back on. "I was fifteen; my parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses." She said remorsefully.

"Who are they?" Sherlock asked.

"They are called Black Lotus. By the time I was 16, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border and into Hong Kong. I finally managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England, they gave me a job here. Everything was good: a new life." She smiled a bit at the last part.

"Then he came looking for you" Sherlock added.

"Yes," Soo Lin swallowed tearfully, "I had hoped after five years they would have forgotten me; but they never really let you leave. In a small community like ours, they are never very far away." Soo Lin wiped a tear from her face. "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him track down something that was stolen."

"And you have no idea what it was?" John asked.

Soo Lin shook her head. "I refused to help." 

"So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?" Soo Lin nodded.

"Oh yes, He's my brother." She looked up at Sherlock who looked surprised. "We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets. My brother has become their puppet. In the power of the one they call Shan: the Black Lotus general" She paused, taking in a deep breath before letting it back out. "I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. The next day, I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

Sherlock handed her photos of the cipher messages on the table. "Can your decipher these?"

Soo Lin leaned forward. "These are numbers." She said pointing to a symbol on one of the photographs. "Here: the line across the man's eyes- it's the Chinese character for the number one."

"And this one is fifteen," Sherlock said, pointing to another photograph. "But what's the code?"

"All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book-" just then, all the lights went out. Sherlock straightened up and looked around. Soo Lin's face was full of terror. "He's here: Zhi Zhu. He has found me." Sherlock immediately;y ran towards the door.

"Sh-Sherlock, wait!" John exclaimed towards Sherlock's direction. John turned to Soo Lin and grabbed her hand. "Come here." He pulled her across the room towards another door. "Get in, get in!"

Sherlock ran across the open foyer, stopping in the middle to quickly look around. A pistol fired at him from the balcony above, causing Sherlock to run in the opposite direction and fling himself behind a statue for cover. John heard the sound of the gunfire from the foyer and turned towards Soo Lin. "I have to go and help. Bolt the door after me." John hurried off and cautiously entered the foyer having to duck for cover as gunshots rang out. 

"Careful!" Sherlock called out to the gunman as he hid behind a cabinet displaying skulls. The gunman fired at him again. "Some of those skulls are over two-hundred-thousand years old! Have some respect!" After a few seconds without gunfire, Sherlock expressed his thanks to the empty room. 

Soo Lin nervously crawled out of her hiding place. As she stood up she sensed the man behind her. She turned around and recognized him immediately. "Liang," she spoke his name softly. "Brother, please-"

John heard the single gunshot ring out in the distance. "Oh my God." He turned towards the restoration room and his face fell.  John raced across the foyer towards the restoration room looking for any sign of the gunman as he entered. His heart stopped at the sight of Soo Lin's dead body lying on the table with a black lotus origami flower in her hand.

Chapter Text

John and Sherlock walked into their living room and took off their coats. "Not just a criminal organization; it's a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of its leaders." Sherlock said out loud.

"Soo Lin said the name," John replied, sitting down in his chair.

"Yes, General Shan,"

"We're still no closer to finding them,"

"Wrong. We've got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces." Sherlock looked at John who looked confused. "Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?"

"She worked at the museum,"

"Exactly," Sherlock nodded.

John began to catch up. "As an expert on antiquities,"

"Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China is home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao's revolution," 

Sherlock and John sat at the table searching for recent auctions, focusing on those with Chinese and other Asian works of art. "Here, John," Sherlock said pointing to an auction lot. "Two Chinese Ming Vases; arrived from China four days ago. Source: anonymous. The vendor didn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the east,"

"One in Lukis' suitcase and the other in Van Coon's," John finished for him. John grabbed Lukis' diary and compared them to other entries on the screen. "Every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon traveling to China,"

"What is one of them got greedy while they were in China? What if one of them stole something?" Just then, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door.

"Hoo, hoo! Sorry, are we collecting for charity Sherlock? A young man is outside with crates of books." Two uniformed police officers began carrying multiple crates of books each labeled with Van Coon and Lukis' names.

Alice popped in to see what the commotion was about and found the living room of 221b filled with crates of books.

"So, the numbers are references to specific pages and specific words on those pages," Sherlock explained to John.

"So... fifteen and one: That means-" John questioned.

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read," Alice answered from the doorway gaining a surprised look from both men. "This only works if the same book is used by both parties. That's the best part of the book code. You need to find a book that they both owned." She entered the room and pointed at the vast amount of crates each filled to the brim with books. "You boys have some work to do." John gave her a look, almost asking her to help them go through each book. Alice smiled and nodded, John handed her crate and the three began working. Soon enough books were scattered everywhere and by morning, Alice was curled up, fast asleep in Sherlock's chair with a pile of books by her feet.

"I've got to go to work," John said, checking the watch on his wrist. "Don't wake her." 

*** ***

"A book that everybody would own," Sherlock stated out loud as Alice took a bite of her sandwich. At first, Sherlock was annoyed that she was helping them out, but he slowly warmed up to the idea after Alice proved herself to be able to keep up with his ramblings. He also found himself to be surprised by her intelligence and ability to think on her feet.  "The Oxford Dictionary!"

Alice quickly grabbed the book from the shelf and turned to page fifteen. "Add,"

"The Holy Bible!"

"I"

As Alice closed the book the two heard John's bedroom door slam shut. A few minutes later, he reemerged with a fresh set of clean clothes on. 

"I need to get some air. We're going out tonight." Sherlock announced, ruffling his fingers through his hair.

"Actually, I've got a date," John responded pleased with himself.

"Congrats John!" Alice patted John on the back.

"A what?" Sherlock questioned, confused that his friend had a life outside their case.

"It's when two people who like each other go out and have fun," Alice sarcastically explained to the consulting detective thus, gaining a slight chuckle from John. "Where are you taking her?"

"Er, cinema," John answered.

"Ugh, dull, boring, predictable," Sherlock rambled as he took out a flyer for a Chinese acrobatic circus from his pocket. "Why don't you try this? They're In London for one night only."

"Thanks, but I don' come to you for dating advice," John said, earning a laugh from Alice. He handed the paper back to Sherlock and headed out.

"Good luck," Alice called out. Sherlock then turned to Alice who held up her hands in defense. "Sorry, Sherlock. You're on your own for this one,"

*** ***

Sherlock, John, and his date, Sarah, returned to 221b where there were still books all over the living room.

"They'll be back in China by tomorrow," John said, taking off his coat.

"No, they won't leave without what they came for. We need to found their hide-out; the rendezvous." Sherlock walked closer to the photos of the cipher on the wall. "Somewhere in this message, it must tell us,"

"Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it," Sarah suggested awkwardly.

"No, you don't have to go. You can stay," John immediately replied. He had enjoyed their date even though Sherlock unexpectedly joined them.

"Yes, it would be better to study if you left now," Sherlock responded simultaneously.

John gave Sherlock a dirty look before turning back towards his date. "He's kidding. Please stay if you like." John said, trying to diffuse the tension between Sherlock and Sarah.

"So, this is what you do, you and John. You solve puzzles for a living?" Sarah asked as she looked around the flat.

"Yes," Sherlock replied without any emotion.

In the kitchen, John happily greeted Alice and Mrs. Hudson who were carrying food and drinks. "I've done punch and I bowl of nibbles and Alice baked the brownies," Mrs. Hudson said as she set a pitcher of punch on the kitchen table. 

"Mrs. Hudson, you are a saint," John whispered before taking a bite of a brownie. He reemerged into the living room to find Sherlock giving Sarah a dirty look. Alice noticed it too and decided to separate the two.

"Hi," Alice stepped in front of Sherlock and extended her hand to Sarah. "I'm Alice, I live in the apartment below. Ignore him," She gestured to Sherlock with her head. "He gets grumpy when tired." Sarah laughed at Alice's joke before heading into the kitchen with John for some snacks. "Hey, Sherlock?" Alice called out looking at the photograph of the brick wall. "Two words have already been translated, here." She handed Sherlock the photograph.

"John, look at this." Sherlock motioned to John who was back in the kitchen. "Soo Lin, at the museum- she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it!" Written across each of the first two sets of characters were the words Nine and Mill. 

"Nine Million pounds, but what for?" Alice asked.

"We need to know the end of this sentence," Sherlock said as he put on his coat. "We must have been staring right at it!" 

"At what?" John asked confused at Sherlock's outburst.

"The book, John! The book- it's the key to cracking the cipher!" He showed the photo once more to John. "Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the museum, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk," Sherlock said before heading out the door.

"Is he always like that?" Sarah whispered to Alice.

"I only met him the other day. But based on John's reaction, I'm guessing that this is normal behavior for Sherlock,"

"Interesting,"

"So how was your date?" The two girls began talking at the kitchen table while John looked confused at the two of them. "John," Alice looked at the army doctor. "How about we order some takeout?" 

"Uh, sure," John nodded and went to find a menu.

In the kitchen, Alice was talking to John and Sarah about life in the States. John picked up the jug of punch and began to refill the glasses when there was a knock on the door.

"Let me grab some plates from my flat since the boys don't seem to have any clean ones," Alice said looking through the cabinets. "I'll be right back." 

 "Blimey, that was rather quick." John headed downstairs and opened the door smiling a man wearing a hoodie. "Sorry to keep you, How much?" John asked rummaging in his trouser pocket.

"Do you have it?" the man asked him.

"What?" John asked.

"Do you have the treasure?"

"I don't understand,"  Just then, the man hit John on the head and John fell to the ground.

*** *** 

Sherlock reentered the kitchen to find it empty aside from Alice who held three plates and cutlery in her hands. Her gaze was focused on yellow paint that had been sprayed across the living room windows. They were the same characters that were targeted for Lukis and Van Coon. 

Chapter Text

John sat on a chair regaining consciousness. Behind him, a fire burned in a dustbin. He grimaced in pain as the Opera Singer from circus show earlier entered through the tunnel in front of him. "A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket," She said as she circled around him. John winced as he turned his head to see Sarah sitting with a gag in her mouth, her eyes filled with terror. "A Chinese proverb, Mr.Holmes,"

"I... I'm not Sherlock Holmes," John looked at her, startled.

"Forgive me if I do not take your word it," The woman reached down and pulled open John's jacket, rummaging in the inside pocket. She took out his wallet and a couple of items. "A debit card, in the name of S. Holmes."

"That's not mine. He lent that to me."

"A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes,"

"Yeah, he gave me that to look after,"

"Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, in the name of Holmes."

"Okay I realise what this looks like, but I'm not him."

"We heard it from your own mouth: 'I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone'," The woman raised a small pistol and pointed it towards his head, grinning. "I am Shan. Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr.Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight." Shan lifted her other hand and cocked the pistol. John cringed back, turning his head away. Shan looked down at him with an ominous expression. John breathed out heavily as her finger tightened on the trigger. "It tells you that they're not really trying." She gave him a smug smile.

Shan sild a clip into the pistol before pointing it at John's head. "No blank bullets now. If we wanted to kill you, Mr.Holmes, we would have done it by now. Do you have it?"

"Do I have what?"

"The treasure."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I would prefer to make certain." Shan looked at her men who revealed a crossbow from under a sheet. "Everything in the West has its price and the price for her life," John turned towards Sarah in horror. "is information." The two men picked up Sarah's chair and carried her towards the crossbow. John began to appologise profusely. Sarah faced the arrow tip crying and tugging at the ropes that tied her to her chair. Shan glared at John, asking him for the hairpin once more. "The Empress pin valued at nine million pounds sterling. We already had a buyer in the West and one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr.Holmes, have been searching."

"Please," John began to beg. "Please, listen to me. I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven't found whatever it is you're looking for."

"I need a volunteer from the audience! Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you'll do very nicely."  Sarah began to sob into her gag. Shan smiled and stabbed a knife into a sandbag hanging from the ceiling. "Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act." Shan placed a black delicate origami lotus into Sarah's lap. "You've seen this act before. How dull for you,  you know how it ends."

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" John tried to reason once again.

"I don't believe you," Shan replied.

"You should, you know," Sherlock said in the distance. Shan spun around as Sherlock's silhouette appeared in the tunnel. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him." Shan raised her pistol and aimed it towards him. "How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"

"How about late?" John answered, annoyed."

"That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand meters per second." Sherlock called from the darkness. One of Shan's men ran towards a storage container standing at the side of the tunnel.

Alice ran out from behind it and hit the man in the stomach with a metal pipe, causing him to fall to the ground.

"The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you." Sherlock jumped out of the darkness and kicked a nearby trash bin. John flinched at the loud noise and Shan realized how hard it was to see in that part of the tramway.

Alice snuck up behind Sarah and began to untie the bonds. Behind her, Liang appeared and began to strangle her with a red scarf. Sarah looked back at the arrowhead pointed at her before looking at the sandbag above the counterweight. Sherlock ran to Alice's help rescuing her from  Zhi Zhu. Freed, Alice continued to work at Sarah's bonds.  Liang rushed forward and swung another loop of the scarf around Sherlock's neck pulling him away. Sarah's eyes were full of tears as she stared at the arrowhead pointed at her.

Alice ran towards the crossbow and quickly shifted its position just as the weight connected to the cup, releasing the arrow. She stared at Liang in horror as the arrow imbedded itself into his stomach. Sherlock stood up, gasping for breath. Alice could hear Shan's footsteps, fleeing the scene, before turning back to Sarah and undoing her bonds. Sherlock removed the scarf from his neck and turned towards the direction Shan ran to before undoing John's bonds. John groaned as he struggled to stand.

Alice kneeled and comforted Sarah, who was sobbing. "It's all right. You're safe now,"

Police began to arrive to clean up the mess. Detective Inspector Dimmock stood waiting by a police car outside the tunnel. John put his arm around Sarah and led her away as Sherlock and Alice stopped to talk to the inspector. "We'll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report."

"Mr. Holmes-" Dimmock began to protest.

"I have high hopes for you. Nothing short of a glittering career," 

"I go where you point me,"

"Exactly," Sherlock stated as he led Alice towards a nearby taxi.

*** ****

The next morning John and Sherlock sat at the table while Alice stood to pour them each a cup of tea. John took a closer at the fully translated message on the photograph. "'Nine million for Jade Pin. Dragon den, black Tramway,'"

"So, it was an instruction to all their operative here in London,” Alice said, trying to recount the events of the past few days  

"A message," Sherlock added, taking a sip of tea. "What they were trying to reclaim."

"What, a jade pin?" John asked.

"Worth nine million pounds," Alice added. "Talk about a very expensive hairpin,"

"Why so much?" John asked trying to make sense of the events that transpired the night before.

"Depends on who owned it, if your powerful enough, a used tissue could go for thousands,” Alice said as she took a bite of her breakfast.

** **

Sherlock sat in his chair across from Alice who was curled up in John's seat. "Over a thousand years old and it's sitting on her nightstand every night," John said from the table, looking at his computer.

"He didn't know its value; didn't know why they were chasing him," Sherlock said.

"Should've just got her a lucky cat," John joked, receiving laughter from the room.

"You're mad, aren't you?" Alice asked, turning towards Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock asked, staring at her.

"That she escaped- General Shan. It's simply not enough that you caught her henchmen."

"It must be a vast network, thousand of operatives. We barely scratched the surface."

"You cracked the code, though, Sherlock. Maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it." John said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nope," Alice replied, opening a book. "Sherlock cracked this code. All they would have to do is pick up another book,"

"I meant to ask," John said, standing in front of Alice, "how did you manage to deduce Sherlock earlier."

"What do you mean? I thought it was pretty obvious? Just look at how he carries himself, the lines on his face, and his basic background. I normally don't say those things out loud, but I figured it would  be nice to return the favour." Alice looked towards Sherlock at that last part. 

**** ****

After Alice headed downstairs to bed, John sat across Sherlock, who was busy on his phone. "Did you ask her to join you?" John asked, writing up the case on his blog. 

"Yes, but there was no hesitation on the way to the tunnel, she seemed determined,"

"Interesting,"

"Yep,"

"It was nice, her helping us out. I have a feeling she'll be an excellent addition to the team."

Chapter Text

Alice stood in an empty room with a chair surrounded by lights. In front of the chair stood a tall man with an umbrella. She walked towards him. "Are you always this dramatic or are you trying to scare me?" The man turned around, revealing himself to her. Alice gave him a once-over; height, cheekbones, mannerisms: Holmes; older brother. 

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet. Hence," He motioned around the room, "this. Please sit down Miss. Whitmer," 

"I'm good right here. May I see that?" Alice asked, gesturing to the man's umbrella. 

"Whatever for?"

"I wanna see if I’m correct in my suspicions." The man handed her his umbrella. As he did so, she took a closer look at his ensemble. Expensive suit and tie, dress shoes with no damage, unmarked black phone- heavily encrypted: government official.  Alice held it up and looked closely observed every inch of the umbrella. Fully functioning umbrella, sword within the shaft, pistol in the handle- self-defence; threatened often- Important government official. 

"You don't seem very afraid," The man commented as she handed back his umbrella.

"You don't seem very frightening," Alice remarked. "Even when you have that," pointing at his umbrella.

"You are the first to notice," The man readjusted his posture. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I really don't have one, I barely know him. I simply live in the same building as him."

"Hmm, yet within a couple of days, you have already joined him on a case, risking your life in the process. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the month? "

Alice let out a sarcastic laugh as she stepped forward. "Who are you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock, why?" Alice analyzed. "I take it you're not friends." Granted, who is really friends with their sibling? Alice thought about her relationship with her own siblings. Their way of apologizing to each other after an argument was asking if the other wanted food.

"You've met him, how many friends do you imagine he has?"

"Other than John, just family," Alice said, looking straight into the man's eyes.

"I'm the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"An enemy." He said softly.

"An enemy?"

"In his mind; certainly. If you were to ask him,  he'd say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well, thank God, you're above all that," Alice commented sarcastically, looking around the room. The man frowned, almost as if he was insulted by her comment.

"Do you plan on continuing your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"Forgive me, but I think that is none of your business."

"It could be," The man threatened.

"It really couldn't,"

The man took a notebook from the inside pocket of his coat and opened it up. "If you do continue to live in two hundred and twenty-one baker street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"I'm sorry, but I can't accept any work with my visa."

"I'm sure we can amend that."

"I'm listening," Alice rested her arms on the back of the chair in front of her. London is expensive and I should pay some rent to Mrs.Hudson if I choose to stay longer than a few months. 

"Information. Nothing discreet. Nothing you feel... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to." The man explained.

"Why?"

"I worry about him, constantly,"

"How kind of you,"

"But, I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call, a difficult relationship."

"Deal, so long that the money is coming from your salary."

"I can imagine people will warn you to stay away from him, but I can see that's is not going to happen. I am willing to offer you 1000 pounds a week for information on Sherlock Holmes." The man handed her an envelope with a cheque inside.

Alice took it and started heading out, but before she left the room entirely, she turned around. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Holmes," she said, leaving the elder Holmes at a loss for words.

The man pulled out his phone and quickly typed up a message for his secretary:

Alice Whitmer: 

Look into files

Contact the U.S.

Priority: Level ULTRA

*** ***

Alice sat in the car with the woman who escorted her earlier. "Do you have an alias you go by?" Alice asked, breaking the silence.

"Uh," The woman paused, thinking of a name. "Anthea,"

"Pleasure to meet you, Anthea." The car pulled up to 221 Baker Street and Alice got out.

"Likewise,"

Alice walked up the stairs and into Sherlock and John's living room to find Sherlock resting on the sofa. She took a closer look at his arms that were resting against his chest. "Are you wearing a nicotine patch?"

"Helps me think," Sherlock replied, revealing two more patches on his arm. "It's a three patch problem."

"I just met your brother, he offered me money to spy on you. I figured that since he's already checking up on you, it wouldn't be too bad if I  took advantage of his offer. If you want, we can split the money. How powerful is he exactly? I'm guessing top tier, right?"

"Wonderful, if only John was smart enough to take the offer. And to answer your question, Mycroft is basically the British Government."

"Good to know, and don't be too hard on John.  Huh," Alice sighed, thinking, "your parents were unique with those names. How bullied were you as a child?" Just then John walked through the door, home from work.

"Oh hello, Alice," John said, hanging up his jacket.

"Alice here has just met my nuisance of a brother," Sherlock spoke, getting up from the couch.

"And how exactly did that go?" John asked, reminded of his first meeting with Mycroft Holmes.

"From an outsider's view, it looked like I was almost kidnapped," She turned to Sherlock who had now replaced an old nicotine patch with a new one. "Has he always been dramatic?"  

"You should have seen how we met,"

"Was he the same with you?"

"Well, after Sherlock left me at a crime scene- a day after we met I might add- I was forced to find a way back to the flat. As I walked along the main road, random phones around me started to ring. I ended up answering one in a phonebox. Soon after, Mycroft's car picked me up and took me to an empty warehouse,"

"And did he ask you to spy on Sherlock too?" Alice asked, knowing the answer already.

"Yes, but I refused his offer."

"At least one of you had the brains to make accept it." Sherlock retorted.

"What did I say about being too hard on John?" Alice responded, earning a thankful look from John. "I don't blame you. Had I not already have known who Sherlock was or have joined him on a case, I would've rejected the offer too. It was funny to see Mycroft's face when I revealed that I knew he was your brother."

"Mycroft is always intrigued by intelligence, especially when it regards me."

"Good to know. Well, If you need me, I will be downstairs."

Chapter Text

Sherlock sat in his chair, dressed in his pyjamas and robe. He pointed his gun at the wall against the sofa and shot the wall twice. On the wall was a spray-painted smiley face. The two initial shots were aimed towards the eyes of the face. Sherlock shot the wall again. Two bullets rested in the curve of the face's smile. Sherlock continued to shoot the wall as John came upstairs.

"What the hell are you doing?" John yelled with his fingers in his ears.

"Bored,"

"What?" John asked in disbelief.

"Bored!" Sherlock jumped up from his chair, causing John to cover his ears once more. Sherlock turned towards the wall once more and pointed the gun at it. "Bored! Bored! Bored!" Sherlock fired at the smiley face with each word. John lunged forwards and took the pistol from Sherlock's hand. Alice, who had just arrived home, ran up the steps.

"What the fuck?" Alice yelled, her hands resting over her ears. Sherlock sulked over to the sofa.

"I don't know what's gotten into the criminal classes, good job I'm not one of them." 

"So you decided to take it out on the wall?" John asked, removing the magazine clip and placing the gun in a safe.

"The wall had it coming," Sherlock replied, tracing the smile on the wall. He then proceeded to fall back onto the sofa. 

"What about the Russian case?" John asked.

"Belarus, John." Alice corrected, "And I'm guessing it was an open and shut domestic murder based off of the smiley face and bullet holes in the wall,” 

"Ah, shame," John said sarcastically, walking into the kitchen, "Anything in? I'm starving," John opened the fridge door and immediately closed it. John proceeded to slowly open the fridge once more. Inside lied a severed head. "It's a head, a severed head!"

"Just tea for me, thanks," Sherlock called from the sofa, earning a smack on the arm from Alice who sat down in his chair.

"No, there's a head in the fridge."

"Yes,"

"A bloody head!" John exclaimed.

"Well, where else was I supposed to put it?" Sherlock called out before turning to Alice, who was preoccupied with her phone "You don't mind do you?"

"I'm not your roommate," Alice replied, not looking up. 

"I got it from Bart's morgue," Sherlock said flatly, "I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death,"

"And you couldn't have done that at Bart's?" Alice asked, "John, I made some muffins earlier; they're on the table- blueberry walnut.

Sherlock ignored her comment and motioned towards John's laptop. "I see you've written up the taxi driver case. 'A Study in Pink,' Nice,"

"Well, you know, pink lady, pink phone- there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?" John asked before taking a bite from his muffin.

"No," Sherlock said, flipping open a random magazine.

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered,"

Sherlock lowered the magazine and glared at John. "Flattered? 'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things'," Sherlock quoted from John's blog. 

"Wow, John, pretty spot on," Alice commented, stifling another laugh.

"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a-" John tried to defend himself.

"Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's prime minister, or who's sleeping with who,"

"Whom," Alice called out from her seat.

"Or whether the Earth goes around the Sun-" John commented.

"Not that again. It's not important." Sherlock argued back.

"Not important? It's primary school stuff. How can you not know?"

"Well if I ever did, I've deleted it. Listen, John,"  Sherlock sat up to face John and pointed to his head, "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Don't you see?"

John stared at him for a second, trying to restrain himself. "But it's the solar system!"

"Oh, hell! What does that matter?" Sherlock exclaimed, "So, we go around the Sun! If we went around the Moon, or round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. Put that on your blog. Or, better yet, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." Sherlock lied back down on the sofa again with his back facing John and Alice.

John stood still for a second before walking towards the front door. "Right, well, I'm leaving,"

"Where are you going?" Alice asked.

"Out, I need some air," John answered, putting on his coat.

“Say ‘hi’ to Sarah for me,” Alice called out as John left the flat. On his way out, he bumped into Mrs.Hudson who was carrying some groceries.

"Hoo-hoo," Mrs.Hudson knocked in the doorway. "Did those two have a little domestic?"

"You have no idea," Alice said, getting up from her chair to help put away the groceries.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there." Mrs.Hudson commented from the kitchen. "He should have wrapped himself up a bit more." Sherlock got up from the sofa.

"Look at that, ladies," Sherlock scanned the street below "quiet, calm, peaceful. Isn't it hateful?"

"Oh, I'm sure something will turn up, Sherlock," Mrs.Hudson said, putting the grocery receipt on the kitchen table.

"A nice murder, that'll cheer you up," Alice added before turning in for the night.

"Can't come too soon," Sherlock said longingly.

"Hey! What have you done to my bloody wall?" Mrs.Hudson exclaimed, noticing the smiley face and bullet holes on the wall. I'm putting this on your rent, young man!" Mrs.Hudson stormed downstairs while Sherlock grinned at his artwork on the wall.

Behind him, a massive explosion went off; causing the windows to blow in.

Chapter Text

John woke up the next morning in Sarah's flat with a sore neck. "Morning," Sarah said, walking into the living room.

"Oh," John paused, grimacing in pain "Morning,"

"See? Told you, you should've gone with the lilo."

John continued to rub his neck. "No, no, no, it's fine. I slept fine. It's very kind of you," Sarah reached for the remote and sat on the arm of the sofa, turning on the tv.

"Well, maybe next time I'll let you sleep at the end of my bed," She gave john a suggestive look before turning towards the tv.

On the television, footage of an art piece filled the screen with the headline 'The Lost Vermeer' at the bottom. "Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century," a newswoman read.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Sarah asked, putting the remote on the coffee table.

"Love some," John replied.

"Yeah, well you'd better make it yourself, 'cause I'm gonna have a shower," Sarah smiled to John before heading to the bathroom. John gave a slight chuckle as he buttoned his shirt.

"... Back now to our main story: There's been a massive explosion in Central London," The newswoman continued to read. John's face filled with shock as footage of Baker Street covered in rubble flashed on the screen. "As of yet, there are no reports of any casualties," John quickly got on his feet and hurried around the sofa.

"Sarah!" John called, grabbing his jacket "Sorry, I've got to run!"

***** *****

Alice sat on Sherlock and John's sofa drinking a cup of tea. In front of her sat Sherlock in his chair and Mycroft in John's. Sherlock held his violin in one hand while plucking the strings with the other. John hurried into the flat to find Sherlock behaving normally, despite the massive explosion that occurred the previous night. "John," Sherlock said calmly, looking up at his flatmate.

"I saw it on the telly, are you okay?" John asked, worried.

"Hmm, what?" Sherlock looked around the room noticing the mess made up of broken glass and scattered papers, "Oh, yeah, fine. Gas leak, apparently,"

"Are you alright?" John asked Alice.

"Oh yeah! I just hit my head in the explosion. It's just a small bruise, nothing serious. I have experienced much worse," Alice replied, trying to make light of the situation.

"Oh, good," John smiled, confused by her reaction but relieved that no one was hurt.

"I can't," Sherlock announced, staring straight at his brother.

"Can't?" Mycroft asked not believing a word his brother said.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time," Sherlock plucked another string on his violin to add emphasis.

"Nevermind your usual trivia. This is of national importance,"

"How's the diet?" Sherlock insulted.

"Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John, Alice," Mycroft said, turning towards the two other people in the room. "I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent,"

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock questioned.

"No-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time-not with the Korean elections-" Mycroft stopped midsentence, seeing John's surprise. Alice merely raised her eyebrows at the older Holme's statement. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" Mycroft let out a chuckle to hide his threat. "Besides, a case like this requires legwork," he sneered at the last part.

Sherlock continued to pluck the strings on his violin, irritated. John rubbed the back of his neck, still sore from last night.

"How's Sarah, John?" Sherlock asked, changing the subject. "How was the lilo?"

"He slept on the couch," Alice corrected before taking another sip of tea.

Mycroft gave her a look of satisfaction. "Exactly"

Sherlock took another look at John. "Oh yes, of course," Alice could sense the embarrassment in his tone. 

"How?" John asked, looking at the three of them. John sat next to Alice on the sofa who smiled. 

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... pals," Mycroft commented, the last word almost foreign to him. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine," 

"Shouldn't you know?" Alice commented under her breath.

"I'm never bored," John answered Mycroft,

"Good, that's good, isn't it?" Mycroft said. He stood, trying to hand a file to Sherlock who refused to take it. Defeated, Mycroft turned and handed the file to John. "Andrew West, known as 'Westie" to his friends," John began to look through the folder as Mycroft spoke. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in,"

"Jumped in front of a train?" John asked, coming to the most reasonable conclusion. "But...?"

"But?" Mycroft repeated.

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident,"

Alice looked up and smiled at John. "You're learning,"

"The Ministry of Defense is working on a new missile defense system- the Bruce Partington Programme, it's called." Mycroft continued to explain, looking at Sherlock who was applying rosin to his bow. "The plans for it were on a memory stick," John snickered at that last detail.

"That wasn't very clever," John commented.

"It's not the only copy, is it?" Alice asked Mycroft.

"No," Mycroft responded, "but it is secret, and missing,"

"Top secret?" John asked, handing the folder to Alice.

"Very," Mycroft said, sternly. "We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands," Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

Sherlock breathed in deeply through his nose. "I'd like to see you try," 

Mycroft ignored his brother's comment and turned towards John and Alice. "Goodbye, John, Alice," John stood, shaking Mycroft's hand. Alice stood to walk Mycroft out, handing him his coat.

Outside 221 Baker Street, Alice handed the file back to Mycroft. "I looked into your history," Mycroft said, showing no emotion.

"And?"

"Why did you really come to England?"

"Are you asking as Mycroft: Sherlock's older brother, or as Mycroft: The British Government?"

"Would it change the answer?"

"No,"

"So why did you decide to come to England?"

"A change of scenery. I needed to get away from DC,"

Mycroft sighed and got into his car; but before he could close the door, Alice stopped him. "You know, one day, this sibling rivalry is going to hurt both of you." 

"I shall take that into consideration. Until next time, Alice,"

*

Alice walked back up the steps, hearing Sherlock randomly play notes on his violin. "Why did you lie?" John asked as she returned to her spot on the sofa.

"Why shouldn't I?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh," John chuckled, finally understanding.

"Sibling rivalry," Alice said.

Sherlock turned towards both of them, but before he could speak, his phone began to ring.

"Sherlock Holmes," He listened for a moment, his face showing excitement as the person on the other line continued to speak. "Of course, how could I refuse?" Standing up, he hung up the phone and headed for the door. "Lestrade. We've been summoned." He said to John before turning to Alice, "Comming?"

"If you want me to," Alice replied, standing up.

"Of course, you're just as sharp as I am," Sherlock said, putting on his coat. "And I'd be lost without my blogger," grinning at John.

"That, and I am pretty sure he wants to boast about having another colleague to the people at Scotland Yard" John whispered to Alice who laughed.

Chapter Text

Alice followed Sherlock and John into New Scotland Yard; she could feel the gazes on her. Anyone who had worked on a case with Sherlock was stunned when they first had met John and to see Sherlock with another person was flabbergasting. Detective Inspector Lestrade greeted the three of them outside his office. "Sherlock, John," he nodded to the two men before turning his attention to the woman joining them. "I don't believe we have met," Lestrade held out his hand.

"Alice Whitmer, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Alice shook it, smiling.

"American? How on Earth did you end up meeting Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, amazed.

"I currently reside in the same building as him and John," Alice explained.

"Graham, why did you call us here?" Sherlock asked, bored with the current conversation.

"It's Greg," Alice, John, and Lestrade corrected at once. John and Lestrade both turned to her, confused how she knew Lestrade's first name. Alice gestured her head towards the nameplate next to her with Lestrade's full name. 

"You like the funny cases, don't you?" Lestrade asked as the three of them followed him into his office.

"Obviously," Sherlock responded, slightly annoyed.

"Then you'll love this. That explosion-"

"Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock concluded.

"No," Lestrade corrected, causing Sherlock to look surprised. "Made to look like one. Nothing left of the place, except a strong box- a very strong box," Lestrade placed a sealed envelope on his desk, "and this," pointing to the envelope, "was inside it,"

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."

"How reassuring," Alice commented sarcastically.

Sherlock picked up the envelope and walked across the room to another table and held it up against a desk lamp.

"Nice stationery, Bohemian. From the Czech Republic. She used a fountain pen: Parker Duofold, iridium nib." Sherlock deduced. He began to open the package very carefully. His mouth opened in surprise as he took out a pink iPhone.

"But that... that's the phone," John stammered, confused but amazed.

"What, from 'A Study in Pink'?" Lestrade asked, referring to John's blog post.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like- 'A Study in Pink'? You read his blog?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, clearly annoyed.

"Of course I read his blog, we all do," Lestrade responded, "Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the sun?" Lestrade asked. Alice hit her forehead with her hand, not wanting to relive the conversation from last night. Another snicker was heard as a woman another woman entered the room to put some files on Lestrade's desk.

"It can't be the same phone," Alice deduced, trying to change the subject. "This one's brand new,"

"Who's this?" The woman asked, turning towards Alice. "The freak's girlfriend?" She asked, half as a joke, half as a serious question.

"Alice, meet Sargent Sally Donovan," Sherlock introduced.

"Did he follow you home or were you kidnapped?"

"Look at the connection sockets, clean as a whistle. Besides, this is a new model; just came out about two months ago." Alice continued to deduce.

"Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone," Sherlock added. "Which means, your blog has a far wider readership," He turned on the phone and immediately received a notification.

"Oh god, there's two of them," Lestrade whispered to John, who simply nodded in agreement.

"You have one new message," the automated voice alert said. The message began to play, but there was no voice, just the sound of the Greenwich Time Signal. Five pips were played: four short, and one long.

"Is that it?" John asked, confused by the simple message.

"No," Sherlock replied as a phone received a photograph.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that?" Lestrade asked, looking at the photo on the phone screen. "An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips?"

"It's a warning," Alice observed. The men in the room turned to her, intrigued.

"A warning?" Lestrade asked, interested in what the American Sherlock had to say.

"Did you all not notice? Normally, the Greenwich pips are five short tones followed by one longer tone. This message consisted of four short tones and one long tone, so five pips in all. In the past, secret societies sent dried melon seeds- most often orange pips- as a warning that death was to be avenged. Five pips was the most common message,"

"Alice, come look at this," Sherlock called, motioning to the phone in his hand.

"Oh shit!" Alice exclaimed as both she and Sherlock started to make their way to the door.

"H-Hang on, "John stuttered, following them, "What is it?"

"The photo was taken in my spare room in 221c," Alice responded. John and Lestrade looked at each other and followed the two out of Scotland Yard.

**** ****

Mrs.Hudson opened the front door to the flat after explaining that only she and Alice had the keys to the flat. "You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock when you first came to see about your flat. I couldn't get anyone interested. It's because of the damp, I expect. That's the curse of the basements," Alice thanked Mrs.Hudson before she followed the men into her spare room. 

The room was empty except for the pair of tennis shoes that sat in the center. Sherlock walked over to the shoes slowly and knelt down next to them. 

"How did he get in?" Lestrade asked, referring to the bomber.

"The window, I don't believe it locks," Alice answered, pointing to the small window near the top of the wall. " also notice: the window opens out- so easy access,  and there are scuff marks on the sill-they weren't there when I moved in- sloppy work. I'm guessing that the supposed bomber climbed over the wall by Mrs.Hudson's trash bins behind the building, and entered my flat through the window, unnoticed. It's a possible option based on what we know."

"Brilliant," John commented, earning a slight smile from Alice.

"Shut up!" Sherlock yelled to the group. Just as he was closely examining the tennis shoes, a phone rang; causing everyone to jump in fright. Sherlock removed the pink phone from his coat pocket and stood up to answer it. "Hello?" He asked.

"H...Hello, sexy," a woman's voice on the other line spoke, crying with each word.

"Who is this?"

"I've sent...you...a...little...puzzle, just to say hi,"

"Who is talking? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying, I'm...typing and this s...stupid bitch... is reading it out," the woman sobbed.

"The curtain rises," Sherlock mumbled to himself.

"What?" John asked, hearing him.

"Nothing," 

"No, what did you mean?"

"I've been expecting this for some time," Sherlock replied.

"Twelve-hours...to solve my puzzle...Sherlock. Or I am going...to be...so naughty," The woman said before the line went dead.

"Detective Inspector," Alice said, pulling Lestrade to he side. "I highly doubt it is possible to trace the call, the bomber is too clever for such a rookie mistake, but-"

"Don't worry, here's my mobile number, Call if you need anything," Lestrade replied, handing her his business card before leaving.

"Sherlock?" John asked as sherlock held up the sneakers to the light.

"We need to go to Bart's," Sherlock said aloud, heading out with the tennis shoes in tow.

Chapter Text

Sherlock examined the trainers in a lab at St Bartholomew's Hospital. He dug out the dried mud and dirt from the treads at the bottom and put them in a Petri dish. He continued to look at his computer next to him as it analyze the mud. Alice stood at the end of the table Sherlock was working at while John was pacing across from them.

"So, who do you suppose it was?" John asked, breaking the silence. 

"Hmm?" Sherlock mused, ignoring the text alert from his phone.

"The woman on the phone- the crying woman,"

"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there," Sherlock responded, still looking at what his computer was reading.

"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads, Sherlock!" John exclaimed, angry at his flatmate.

"You're not going to be much use to her," Sherlock responded, glancing at the scanner trying to match the dried mud to other substances.

"There's no point, John," Alice interrupted. "The bomber is too clever to leave a loose end like that. I doubt even Mycroft could help us try to trace the call."

Sherlock's phone trilled once more. "Pass me my phone," Sherlock instructed. John looked around the room, wondering if the command was for him or the general population.

"Where is it?" John asked.

"Jacket," Sherlock replied. John sighed in disbelief before walking over to Sherlock, opening his jacket, and taking out his phone. "Careful," Sherlock warned, angrily.

John sighed once more as he looked at Sherlock's phone. "Text from your brother," he said, about to show Sherlock.

RE: BRUCE-PARTING PLANS

Any progress on Andrew

West's death?

Mycroft

"Delete it," Sherlock instructed, refusing to look up from his microscope.

"Delete it?"

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it," Sherlock explained.

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is; he's texted you eight times," Alice said, looking over John's shoulder at Sherlock's phone.

"Why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" Sherlock asked, raising his head.

"What?" John asked, confused at Sherlock's statement about the elder Holmes brother.

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk," Sherlock explained. "Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, and got his head smashed in, end of the story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?"

"Do try and remember that there's a woman here who might die," Alice said, her arms folded across her chest. 

"What for," Sherlock asked, earning a groan from John. "This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside? See what good it does then," John turned to Alice in disbelief. Unbothered, Sherlock turned his attention back to his computer, which pinged to announce that it had found a match. "Ah," Sherlock announced in delight.

"Any luck?" Molly Hooper asked as she entered the room. Alice had met Molly earlier that day when the trio first arrived at Bart's hospital. The woman had a kind heart and an obvious and massive crush on Sherlock. Still, she was nice to the trio and even let them use the lab whenever they needed it.

"Oh yes!" Sherlock replied in triumph. As Molly walked over to view what was on the computer screen, the door opened again. A man in his early thirties, wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans entered the room. He didn't look too special, then again, looks can be deceiving.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't-" The man began to speak.

"Jim! Hi!" Molly exclaimed. Jim was about to leave, not wanting to intrude, but molly stopped him. Sherlock eyed Molly, annoyed at the prospect of having to meet another person. Molly began to make introductions as Jim walked over to her. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson," Jim turned to both of them and smiled. "And this is, uh... sorry," Molly said, turning to Alice,

"Alice Whitmer, pleasure," Alice said, holding out her hand for Jim to shake.

"Hi," Jim replied, taking her hand and shaking it. Early thirties, works at the hospital- less than a couple of months, definitely not straight, hiding something else-ulterior motive, Alice deduced before being pulled out of her thoughts.

"So, you're the famous Sherlock Holmes," Jim said to Sherlock, "Molly's told me all about you. Are you working on one of your cases?" Jim made his way closer to Sherlock, forcing John to move and stand next to Alice at the end of the table.

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met: office romance," Molly explained to the group, excited about her current relationship.

Sherlock glanced at Jim again before looking back at his microscope. "Gay,"

Molly's smile faded. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Nothing, I meant, hey," Sherlock gave a fake smile to Jim.

"Hey," Jim replied, almost admiring Sherlock. As his hand lowered onto the table, a metal dish fell off. "Oh, sorry, sorry," Jim said, nervously scrambling to put the dish back onto the desk, placing a piece of paper under it. Swift, Alice thought to herself.

"what do you mean, gay?" Molly exclaimed once Jim left the room. "We're together,"

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you," Sherlock replied.

"Two and a half,"

"No, three,"

Alice promptly smacked Sherlock on the back of the head after he corrected Molly.

"He's not gay! Why do you have to spoil-" Molly turned to Alice, "He's not,"

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock asked, rhetorically. "Tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, and then there's his underwear,"

"His underwear?"

"Visible above the waistline- very visible, very particular brand." Sherlock then began to reach for the metal dish that dropped earlier. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish." Sherlock handed her the piece of paper with Jim's number. "I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain," Molly looked at the number before turning to Alice.

"Maybe the number was meant for her," Molly said, trying to reason why her boyfriend left his number on the table.

"If that was the case, Molly, then would you really want to continue dating a man who casually hands out his number to girls while his girlfriend is in the room? Molly, you deserve someone better than that" Alice said, apologetically. Molly stared at both Sherlock for another second before running out of the room.

"Charming Sherlock, well done," John said once Molly left.

"I was just saving her time; isn't that kinder?" Sherlock asked, annoyed at John's comment.

"'Kinder'? No, Sherlock. That wasn't kind,"

Done with the conversation, Sherlock handed John and Alice each one of the trainers on the desk. "Go on then," He instructed the two of them. "You know what I do, off you go,"

"No," John said, putting the shoe back on the desk. "I'm not going to stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate-"

"I need an outside eye, a second opinion; it's very useful to me," Sherlock interrupted.

"Fine," John picked up the shoe again and began to try to mimic Sherlock. "I'd say they were pretty new, except the sole has been well worn, so, the owner must have had them for a while. They're very eighties- probably one of those retro designs," John looked inside the shoe, seeing blue smudges at the side. "But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid," John placed the shoe back on the desk and looked at Sherlock, waiting to be belittled.

Sherlock looked up at John proudly. "You did well, John. I mean, you missed almost everything of importance-"

"Why not let Alice have a go at it?" John argued. Both turned towards Alice, who was observing the shoe in one hand while simultaneously looking at her phone in the other.

"Alright, I'll play," Alice said, placing her phone down on the table. "The original owner loved the shoes. So much so that he scrubbed them clean and whitened them in places where they got discoloured. Laces have been changed three or four times. Shoes are well-worn, more on the inside; showing that the owner had weak arches. They're old, really old for shoes," Alice handed her phone to John and Sherlock, on the screen showed the same pair of shoes. "And they're original. Limited edition: two blue stripes, came out in eighty-nine."

"But there's still mud on them. They look new," John commented, still trying to figure out Alice's analysis.

"Our bomber's kept them that way. You forgot his eczema- traces of flakey skin where his fingers came into contact with the laces. There's a bit of mud on the soles, analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it," Sherlock chimed in.

"How do you even know that?" John asked.

"Pollen: clear as a map reference to me," Sherlock pointed to his computer screen. On it, two dots flashed on a map of Britain: One in Sussex and the other to the south-east of London. "South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind,"

"So, what happened to him?" Alice asked.

"Something bad." Sherlock looked up at John and Alice. "He loved these shoes, remember? He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't let them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets...oh," Sherlock said in realisation.

"What is it?" Alice asked. "We can't read minds you know,"

"Carl Powers," Sherlock whispered.

"Who?" John asked, also confused.

"It's where I began, we need to leave," Sherlock got up, taking the trainers with him. John and Alice looked at each other confused, before following the consulting detective.

Chapter Text

The three of them sat in the back of a taxi."1989, a young kid- champion swimmer- came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. A tragic accident," Sherlock explained, showing John a picture of a newspaper article on his phone. "You wouldn't remember it John, and it wasn't important enough to be reported in America either. I was only a kid myself when it happened,"

"But you remember it, why?" Alice asked, curious as to why the case was interesting to a young Sherlock Holmes. "What made this case so peculiar?"

"The boy- Carl Powers- had some kind of fit in the water. By the time they were able to get him out, it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head,"

"What was it?" John asked.

"His shoes,"

"His shoes?" Alice repeated John's question. "You don't mean-"

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "They weren't there. I made a fuss. I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there were no signs of his shoes; until now,"

**** SIX HOURS LEFT ****

Sherlock had shut himself in the kitchen, the trainers sitting nearby. Sherlock looked through multiple photos and printouts of newspapers covering Carl Power's death. On the other side of the closed doors, John paced back and forth in the living room. "Can I help?" John asked, opening one of the doors. "I want to help, there are only five hours left," John's phone buzzed, indicating a text.

Any developments?

- MH

"It's your brother. He's texting me now," John frowned, "How does he know my number,"

"Don't act so surprised, he texts me all the time. Besides, Sherlock did say Mycroft was practically the British government. If the man is in charge of MI5 and MI6, finding your phone number is child's play," Alice commented, not looking up from her computer.

"Must be a root canal," Sherlock said to himself. John sighed, putting his phone away and entering the kitchen.

"Look, he did say 'national importance,'"

"How quaint," Sherlock said, still focused on the photographs in front of him.

"What is?"

"You are, John. Queen and country."

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now," Sherlock smiled, looking up at John.

"Right, good, who's that?"

**** THREE HOURS LEFT ****

Sherlock looked through the microscope lens at the shoelaces. Mrs.Hudson and Alice entered carrying trays of food and a couple of mugs. As they put them on the kitchen table, Sherlock looked up from the microscope. "Poison!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Clostridium botulinum!" John looked at him confused, having just returned from a meeting with Mycroft. "It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!"

"Carl Powers," Alice said, giving John context to Sherlock's most recent outburst.

"Oh," John nodded, ".ait, are you saying he was murdered?"

Sherlock stood up and walked over to grab the shoelaces from the trainers. "The boy suffered from eczema. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later, he comes up to London. The poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles and he drowns,"

"What? How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?" John asked.

"It's virtually undetectable," Alice explained.

Sherlock walked around the table opening his web browser to his blog "The Science of Deduction' and began to type.

FOUND: Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989)

Botulinum toxin still present. Apply at 221b Baker St.

"That's why they had to go," Sherlock said as he finished typing

"The killer kept the shoes all these years? As what; a trophy?" Alice asked herself. "Talk about sickening,"

The pink phone rang, again a blocked number was shown on the screen. Everyone in the flat went silent as Sherlock answered the phone."Well done, you. Come and get me," The woman's voice said.

"Where are you?" Sherlock said loudly and clearly. "Tell us where you are,"

*** ***

The trio gathered in Lestrade's office. "She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house," Lestrade said, turning to Sherlock. "They told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager," Lestrade put the pager onto his desk in front of John, who took a closer look at it. 

"If she had deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off," Alice said as if it were obvious.

"But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh- I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored," Sherlock commented. Suddenly the pink phone buzzed again. This time, only four pips rang out. "First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second," Sherlock showed the new photograph to the others. On the screen was a photograph of a black sports car with the door open on the driver's side "It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?"

"I'll check if it's been reported," Lestrade said, typing on his computer. 

"Freak, it's for you," Sargeant Donovan said as she entered Lestrade's office. Sherlock nodded and left the room to take the call. Alice looked through the window to see Sherlock's face confused.

"We found it!" Lestrade yelled, grabbing his coat.

The police

The four gathered in a large parking garage where the car was found. Lestrade led the group past the police tape and to the car. "The car was hired yesterday morning by Ian Monkford- paid in cash," Lestrade told the trio. "Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived," As Sherlock and Lestrade examined the car, Sally Donovan walked up to Alice and John. 

"You're both still hanging around him?" She asked. "They do say opposites attract," She said, looking at Alice.

"We're not-" Alice began to speak, only to be interrupted once more.

"You should get yourself a hobby- stamps, maybe," Sally suggested before going back to Lestrade. Sherlock leaned into the car to look at the amount of blood that was smeared over the front seats. 

"Before you ask, it's Mokford's blood. The DNA checks out," Lestrade said as Sherlock took a business card from the glove box.

"No body," Alice observed.

"Not yet," Sally corrected.

"Get a sample sent to the lab," Sherlock instructed Lestrade before walking towards Ian Monkford's wife.

"Mrs.Monkford?" Sherlock asked feigning sympathy.

"Yes?" Mrs.Monkford said, shedding a tear. "I'm sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen,"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said, holding out his hand to her. "A very old friend of your husband's. We, um..." Sherlock paused as if he was fighting back a tear. "... we grew up together,"

"I'm sorry, who?" I don't think he ever mentioned you,"

"Oh, he must have done. This... this is horrible. I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian; not a care in the world," Alice was amazed at Sherlock's acting. The man was producing fake tears to solve a crime.

"Sorry? My husband has been depressed for months," Mrs.Monkford corrected, not believing Sherlock. "Who are you?"

"Really strange that he hired a car. Why, why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't," Mrs.Monkford said defensively, "He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all,"

"Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!" Sherlock had tears dripping down his face by this point.

"No, it wasn't" Instantly Sherlock stopped crying and looked at Mrs.Monkford with a straight face.

"Wasn't it? Interesting." The group turned and walked away, ignoring Mrs.Monkford's questions.

"Why did you lie to her?" John asked.

Alice handed Sherlock a pack of tissues from her purse. He took one, wiping the tears from his face. "People don't like telling you things," She said, putting the small pack of tissues back into her bag. "But they love to correct you. Sherlock referred to her husband in the past tense. Mrs.Monkford Joined in, a bit early considering they just found the car a couple of hours ago,"

"So, you think she murdered her husband?" John asked, still trying to piece together the puzzle in front of him.

"No, that would be too easy. It's not a mistake a murderer would make," Alice replied nonchalantly. "Where now?"

Sherlock produced the business card he found in the glove box. "Janus Cars,"

Chapter Text

**** SIX HOURS TO GO ****

Alice and John sat in the office of Mr.Ewart, the owner of Janus Cars. Sherlock stood next to them, staring outside at the forecourt.

"I can't see how I can help you," Mr.Ewart said, sitting at his desk.

"Mr.Monkford hired the car from you yesterday," John stated.

"Yeah, a lovely motor: Mazda RX-8. I wouldn't mind one of those myself,"

"Is that one?" Sherlock asked, pointing at a car in the forecourt.

Mr.Ewart turned his head to look at what Sherlock was pointing to and shook his head. "No, those are all Jaguars. I can see you're not a car man, eh?"

"But, surely you can afford one, a Mazda, I mean?" Alice asked. "Maybe not an RX-8 but a simple Mazda3 would surely suit your needs,"

Mr. Ewargt gave a flirtatious glance at Alice. "You know your stuff. It's a fair point. But you know how it is: it's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the licorice, when does it stop?" He started scratching the top of his left arm with his right hand. Sherlock and Alice immediately took notice.

"But you didn't know Mr.Monkford?" John questioned.

"No," Ewart stated, "He was just a client; came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him- poor sod,"

"Nice holiday, Mr.Ewart?" Sherlock asked, standing beside Mr.Ewart, who gave him a confused look. "You've been away, haven't you?"

"Oh, no," Mr.Ewart said, pointing to his tanned face, "It's the sunbed, er, I'm afraid. To busy to go away on holiday. My wife would love it though, a bit of sun,"

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Sherlock abruptly asked. 

"What?"

"I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change," Sherlock explained, offering Ewart a banknote. "I'm gasping,"

Mr.Ewart, confused, reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his wallet.  "No sorry," 

"Oh well, thank you very much for your time, Mr.Ewart," Sherlock said, turning to the door. "You've been very helpful. Come on, John, Alice,"

*

Sherlock sat in the lab at St. Barts, running tests on Ian Monkford's blood. Alice sat across from him, writing down her thoughts in a notebook "I'm confused at the name," Alice said, breaking the silence. "Janus Cars, why name a company after the Roman god with two faces, it makes no-" Alice's eyes widened and she stood up. "Sherlock, let me take a closer look at that blood sample, I think I know what happened,"

*** THREE HOURS TO GO ***

The trio stood with Lestrade around Monkford's car. "How much blood was on that seat?" Alice asked the detective inspector.

"About a pint,"

"Not 'about', exactly a pint- a rookie mistake if you ask me. That is definitely Ian Monkford's blood. But it's been frozen,"

"Frozen?"

"Ian Monkford donated a pint of his blood a while ago and that is what is they spread on the seats," Sherlock added.

"I'm sorry, who did?" John and Lestrade asked at the same time, not keeping up with the two geniuses.

"Janus Cars," Alice explained, "The ancient Roman god Janus, is famous for having two faces: one looking into the past and the other looking into the future. If anyone found themselves in trouble; money problems, a bad marriage, et cetera, Janus Cars will help them disappear. The company will bury their past and give them a new future, far away from the UK. Think about it: Mr. Monkford was buried deep in financial trouble and couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood spatter all over the driver's seat..."

"So, where is he?" John asked, understanding Alice's explanation.

"Colombia," Sherlock answered as if it were obvious. "Mr.Ewart of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombia peso note in his wallet. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, nut when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm,"

"His arm?" Lestrade asked.

"He kept scratching it," Alice piped up "It was obviously irritating him. It was most likely a required booster jab for Hep-B. So, in all: Mr.Ewart had just arrived back in London from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs.Monkford cashes in her 'deceased' husband's life insurance and splits the profits with Janus Cars,"

"Can I hire you?" Lestrade asked, amazed at Alice's skills.

"No, but you can- and should- arrest them," Alice said before turning to Sherlock, "You need to let the bomber know that the case is solved,"

***** *****

Alice took a sip from her coffee-filled mug. The three of them sat in at a table in a small cafe. John was busy tucking into his hot breakfast while Sherlock impatiently tapped his fingers on the table, waiting for the pink iPhone next to him to ring. "Feeling better?" she asked the boys, "You both realize that we've hardly stopped for breath since this all started,"

"Has it occurred to you-" John began to say to Sherlock

"Probably,"

"No, has it occurred to you that this bomber is playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into Alice's flat; the dead kid's shoes; It's all meant for you,"

"Yes, I know," SHerlock smiled smugly.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?"

"Perhaps,"

"Wait," Alice said, holding her hand up "I was never told this, who is Moriarty?"

"That's just it, we don't know who he is," John answered, taking another bite of his breakfast.

The pink phone buzzed and the three of them silently listened to the two short pips and one long tone. On the screen was a photograph of a middle-aged woman smiling.  "That could be anybody," Sherlock said.

"Well lucky for you Mrs.Hudson and I watch far too much telly," John said, walking up to the counter and switching the channel on the small TV that hung in the corner. "Connie Prince,"

"Who?" Alice asked, unsure of who Connie Prince was.

John began to tell Alice about Connie Prince's career while Sherlock slipped out of the cafe to answer the pink iPhone.

Chapter Text

Connie Prince's body sat out on a table in the morgue at Bart's Hospital. A sheet covered the bottom half of her body. Lestrade read her file out loud for the trio to hear. "Connie Prince: 54. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. She was very popular, said to be going places,"

"Not anymore," Sherlock said as Alice was busy taking a closer look at the dead body. "So, she's been dead for two days. According to one of her staff members, Raoul de Santos, she had cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden- highly improbable. There has to be something more,"

Alice walked around the dead body before taking a closer inspection at the deep cut in the webbing between Connie's right thumb and index finger. "Sherlock, can you lend me your magnifier?" She held out her hand, waiting for Sherlock to do as he was instructed. Sherlock obliged and placed his trusty tool in her palm. Alice looked at the cut through the lens for only a few seconds before coming to a conclusion. "Connie's death was not caused by the cut on her hand. She died of a different cause. There are several small scratches on her upper arm, claw marks that are most likely from a cat. Then the tiny pinpricks on her forehead- botox injections,"

"Why are you taking those into consideration?" Lestrade asked, trying to follow Alice's lead.

"Look at the supposed cause of her death," Alice pointed to Connie Prince's right hand "The cut is deep; she would have bled a lot, yes? Take a closer observation, the wound is clean- too clean and too fresh. John, how long would the bacteria be incubating inside her?"

John thought about it for a second. "About eight to ten days,"

"Exactly! So the cut had to have been made after she died. The real mystery: how did tetanus enter the dead woman's system- if that is how she really died?"

"You want to help, right?" Sherlock asked, turning to his flatmate, "Look up Connie Prince's background: family history, everything. We need data," John nodded, and both left the room.

"There is something else we haven't thought of," Lestrade said to Alice.

"Yes, why is our bomber doing this?"

"If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?"

"My best guess, our bomber was involved with each of them in some way and is playing a game of cat and mouse with Sherlock,"

"Alice, this is serious. I'm trusting both of you, but, out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in semtex and is just waiting for you two to solve the puzzle,"

"You think I don't know that!" Alice exclaimed, losing control of herself for a minute before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Greg. It has never been my intention to be a part of all this. I merely came to London to have some time to myself and enjoy a simple vacation,"

"And your simple vacation included teaming up with Sherlock?"

"I didn't expect to join him and John. I don't mind it though,"

"Have you had expience in the crime-solving field before? You seem really experienced and knowledgable for someone who had just joined Sherlock and John only a few weeks ago,"

"I have a backround in criminalistics, among other things," Alice replied, before pulling out her phone and exiting the morgue.

"Interesting,"

**** EIGHT HOURS TO GO ****

John and Alice stood in Connie Pince's house, interviewing her brother Kenny."We're devastated, of course, we are," Kenny stated. Raoul offered both John and Alice beverages before leaving and smiling at Kenny. "Raoul is my rock. I don't think I could have managed without him." Kenny looked down sadly "We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me." A cat then proceeded to climb onto Alice's lap, meowing in protest as she placed it back on the ground. 

"And to the public, Mr. Prince," Alice said, trying to show some remorse.

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses." The cat climbed onto John's lap, purring. "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this vale of tears," 

*

Kenny stood by the fireplace, holding a photograph of his sister holding a tv award. "It's more common than people think," John commented as he waited for Alice to come back after being sent on an errand. "Tetanus in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing,"

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny commented

"So sorry about that," Alice said, running in carrying a bag. She began to take multiple photographs with the flash on in order to distract Kenny Prince. After about ten quick-fire shots, she stopped and turned to John. "I believe that is all that we need," Alice said, putting the camera back into the bag. "Coming?" She asked before leaving the building.

"Right," John said, following after her.

"It wasn't the cat," Alice said in the taxi as the two headed back to Baker St. "The cat's new; bound to be a bit jumpy around her. Raoul, the houseboy, killed her.

"I'm not following," 

"Kenny Prince was often the butt of his sister's jokes, a virtual bullying campaign sprouted soon after. Raoul had enough and the two got into a huge argument and she threatened to disinherit Kenny. By then, Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle."

***

"Raoul de Santos is your killer," Alice declared as she and John walked into Lestrade's office to meet up with him and Sherlock. "The Prince's houseboy, he killed her with botulinum toxin," She paused and looked over at Sherlock, "Huh, our bomber repeated himself; Carl Powers, remember?"

"So how did he do it?" Lestrade asked.

"Botox injection. Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Raoul was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. I managed to get my hands on a complete record of his internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months. He bided his time then upped the dosage to a fatal dose. Sherlock let our bomber know that the case is solved,"

Sherlock nodded and updated his blog. The pink phone rang and Sherlock answered it. "Tell us where you are: address," Sherlock instructed. "No, no, no... Hello?" his face fell. Noticing Alice's horrified face, Sherlock immediately turned to his flatmate. "John, take Alice back to the flat," John nodded and the two left Scotland Yard.

*

Alice brought up another tray of cookies into the boy's flat. It was only nine in the morning and their kitchen table was already covered with baked goods. She stopped to listen to what the boys were watching on the news. "Well, the bomber certainly gets around," Alice said, referencing the block of old flats that were destroyed by a gas leak. "Just a slight description and he kills them. Stays above it all, organizes all these crimes like he's a travel agent booking a vacation," Finding nowhere in the kitchen or on the table in the living room for the cookies, Alice placed the tray on the mantle above the fireplace before sitting down on the couch. "Anything on Carl Power's case?"

"Nothing," Sherlock replied, looking up from his laptop. "All living classmates check out; no connection,"

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl," John suggested "Or he could have been younger. I'd hate to think that he would be. Imagine a young kid smart enough to execute a plan like that,"

"You'd be surprised at the intelligence some people have at an early age," 

"Why is he doing this? Putting lives at stake, Sherlock. Just- just so I know, do you care about them at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock replied, irritated. Seeing the angry look on John's face, he spoke more calmly. "I see I've disappointed you. Don't make people into heroes, John. They don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them,"

"Listen to him, John," Alice said, "Heroes are the stuff of legend. They don't exist in our world. But for every hero, there is a villian. and for every villain, there are the minions. Some, might not fully understand what side they are on until it is too late. You've seen how people treat each other: you were a soldier." Both men looked at her, Alice was normally carefree and John liked how she was normal in comparison to his flatmate. "However, there are always people who try to do the right thing; and right now, it's us. Sherlock, I know you heard that phone buzz during my outburst; so please, do us all a favour and open the message so you can do the right thing and solve the crime,"

***

Alice sat in a small cafe in Covent Garden. She had decided that morning that she was going to be a tourist for a while. No more crimes; no more feeling responsible for someone's early death; just a change of scenery and then back home to the US. It was already dark out by the time she decided to head back to her flat.

As she headed towards the tube station, Alice felt as if someone was following her. She walked faster, not to the point where she was actively running, but fast. As she turned the corner, she bumped into a man in a hoodie. "Oh, sorry..."Alice began to apologize, but before she could continue her statement, she felt a small prick on the back of her neck and the world in front of her slipping away.

Chapter Text

Alice felt herself regain her consciousness. Her head hurt- bad. She was in an empty room, only one light hung from the ceiling, providing light in the small space. She looked down, surprised to find that she was now in a chair with her hands cuffed behind her back. Thank God I'm still wearing the same clothes. She thought to herself.

"There is no point; you trying to escape," A voice said as the door opened. In walked three men, one of whom, Alice recognized.

"You," Alice breathed out, shocked. "Jim?"

"Ah, I see you recognize me, Alice. James Moriarty," Jim gave her a little wave. "But feel free to call me Jim. I must admit, you have fantastic style. Doesn't she Sebastian?" Jim asked the sandy-haired man on his right. Upon closer inspection, Alice realized that Sebastian was the man she accidentally ran into earlier, the one who drugged her. Sebastion merely nodded before turning his attention back to Moriarty. "Uncuff her," He ordered. Sebastian did as he was told and proceeded to uncuff Alice's wrists.

"You're our bomber. Tell me, why now are you coming into the light. Why not just stay in the shadows, hidden and safe?" Alice asked, rubbing her sore wrists. "What are you? A consulting criminal of some sorts?"

"See, that is what I like about you," Jim said, learning forward to cup her face. Alice refused to let him see her fear. "You've got the brains and the body. I've done my research on you, Miss. Whitmer, and let me just say, I am astounded. And can I just comliment you on your privious work? If you ever get tired of being on the side of good, there is always a spot open for someone with you history and expertise on my team,"

"I'm sorry, but I must delcine your offer, Mr. Moriarty. And whatever dirt you found on me, stays buried. Now, where are we?" Alice asked, pushing Jim away with her foot.

"The pool where poor Carl Powers died and the two of you, are going to help me." Jim snapped his fingers and the door opened. John entered the room, dressed in enough explosives to destroy the entire building.

"John," Alice gasped, horrified.

"Little Johnny here, is going to be the first part of the plan," Moriarty placed his hand on John's shoulder, much to the doctor's chagrin. "But you, my darling, will be the final act. Wait here; I need to see if our dear Sherlock has decided to come and play," Moriarty left the room, leaving only John and Alice to wait.

"Alice, oh dear God, are you okay?" John franticly asked. 

"Yeah, I should ask you the same thing," Alice stood up, trying to get a better look at John's vest. "The wiring, it's too complicated. I can't defuse it without the proper tools, I'm so sorry," Alice said, disappointed in herself.

"How did you even get here?"

"I got drugged on my way home in Covent Garden, you?"

"Can't say that I comletely remember,"

"Showtime Johnny boy," Moriarty said, entering the room once more with Sebastian right behind him. Another one of Moriarty's henchmen arrived and escorted John out to the pool, leaving only Sebastian and Alice in the room.

*

Sherlock opened the door to the indoor swimming pool. "Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present," He announced to the empty room. "Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? your little puzzles; making me dance- all to distract me from this." Sherlock said, holding up the memory stick. Sherlock turned in a slow circle, waiting for a response. John walked through another door to see Sherlock in absolute shock.

"Evening," John said, not wanting to stumble. 

"John, what the hell?" Sherlock asked, still shocked at the presence of his partner and friend.

"Bet you never saw this coming,"

Sherlock began to move closer to John, who in turn, revealed the explosives strapped to his body. From somewhere above them, a sniper's laser danced across John's torso. "What...would you like me...to make him say...next?" John proceeded to recite a tongue twister until Sherlock yelled for him to stop. "Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too, and maybe even precious Alice. I can stop their hearts," John tried his best not to cringe at the last words.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, looking around the pool.

"I gave you my number," A voice softly said from the far end of the pool. His Irish accent more noticeable than before."I thought you might call," Jim walked out into the light letting Sherlock fully analyze him. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" Jim flirted.

Sherlock promptly reached into his trouser pocket and removed his pistol. "Both," Sherlock said, aiming at Moriarty, who was unfazed by the gun pointed at him.

"Jim Moriarty, Hi," Jim walked along the deeper end of the pool. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point," The sniper's laser returned to John's chest, causing Sherlock to give Moriarty a questioning look. "Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty," 

Alice's breath was heavy. Sebastian was kind enough to let her watch from where John had entered the pool. Why do I always find myself in these types of situations?

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world," Jim continued "I'm a specialist you see- like you!"

"'Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, Please will you fic it for me to disappear to South America?'"

"Just so,"

"A consulting criminal," Sherlock said, steading the gun with his other hand. "Brilliant,"

Moriarty couldn't help but smile at the compliment. "Isn't it? no one ever gets to me..." His face returned to the emotionless state that he held prior, "...and no one ever will,"

"I did," Sherlock said, cocking the pistol

"You've come the closest, now you're in my way,"

"Thank you,"

"Didn't mean it as a compliment,"

"Yes you did," Sherlock corrected.

"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirtings over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear: back off." Jim smiled as he slowly walked towards Sherlock. "Although, I have loved this- this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT, playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?" 

"People have died,"

"That's what people DO!" He screamed the last word forcefully.

Alice stepped back in fright, only to have her back meet Sebastian's chest. "Oh, sorry," she whispered, quickly removing her one heel was on his toes. 

"I will stop you," Sherlock stated.

"No, you won't," Jim said in a sing-song voice.

"You alright?" Sherlock asked, his attention turning towards John. John refused to speak, not wanting to set off any of the bombs on his chest.

"You can talk, Johnny-boy," Jim said, standing right next to him, "Go ahead," John simply nodded once.

Sherlock took out the missile plans with one hand, the other, still on the pistol. "Take it," 

"Huh, oh, that," Jim walked past John and took the memory stick from Sherlock. "The missile plans," He kissed it and tossed it into the pool. "Boring. I could have gotten them anywhere,"

Seeing this as an opportunity, John raced forward and wrapped his arms around Moriaty's neck and chest. "If your sniper pulls that trigger Mr.Moriarty, then we both go up," John said, pulling Moriarty closer so that the bomb was in between the two of them.

Jim smiled. "They're so touchingly loyal. But oops, you've rather shown your hands there, Doctor Watson," A sniper's laser appeared on Sherlock's forehead. "Gotcha," Jim sang as John released his hold. Jim smoothed out his suit with his hands. "Do you know what happens, Sherlock, if you don't leave me alone, to you?"

"Oh, let me guess; I get killed," Sherlock answered, his gun still aimed at Moriarty.

"No, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway someday. I don't want to rush it though, where's the fun in that? No, I'm saving it up for something special. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you,"

"I have reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock retaliated.

"But we both know that's not quite true. For example:" Jim smiled and snapped his fingers. "Oh, dear Alice," he called.

Alice was pushed out of her hiding spot and straight into Jim's arms. Her eyes bore straight into Sherlock's. Moriarty's one arm wrapped around her while the other rested in his pocket. "Little Alice here is too pretty for me to tie a bomb to." He began to caress Alice's cheek, "So much knowledge in her brain. But you knew that, Sherlock. You even let her solve a case. Dare I say, Alice is far cleverer than you. She will play an important part in our little game. Even after I win, she'll be useful. You let her get close to you, yet you don't even know who she really is," Alice tried to pull away from Jim's grasp to no avail. "Well," he said, letting her go and pushing her into Sherlock's arms. "I'd better be off. It was nice to have had a proper chat,"

"What if I shoot you right now?" Sherlock asked, raising his pistol. Alice stood behind him.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Jim replied, opening his mouth wide as if he were actually shocked before grinning at Sherlock. "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. Of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long," He turned around and began to walk away. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes,"

"Catch...you...later," Sherlock said slowly, his gun still aimed at Moriarty. 

"No you won't," Moriarty sang as he walked out.

The door closed and the trio stood still for a few seconds- no one dared to move. Sherlock looked at John and noticed the sniper's laser was gone. He let his pistol fall to the floor and both he and Alice began to unstrap John from the bomb. "Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine," John replied, trying to catch his breath. Alice ran behind John, tugging the vest off of his shoulders. Once off, she slid the jacket and vest towards the other side of the pool. "Alice," John said, turning the attention of the room the Moriarty's other hostage. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Alice said, trying to collect herself on the ground. John kneeled beside her. "No, he didn't do anything too horrible to me. He just drugged me, cuffed me to a chair, and held me hostage. I've dealt with much worse,"

John nodded, unsure of what to say. "I'm glad no one saw that," he commented, standing back up.

"Hmm?" Sherlock mused as he picked up his gun from the floor.

"Both of you, ripping my clothes off in a darkened pool. People might talk,"

"They would do little else," Alice snorted, grinning at the two men. Before she could get up from the ground, the sniper's laser appeared on John. 

The door at the deep end of the pool opened once more, allowing Moriarty to enter the pool. "Sorry boys- and girl, I'm sooooo changeable!" He cheerfully sang as more red dots began to dance over John and Sherlock's bodies. "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind," 

"Probably my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock responded, lowering his pistol at the bomb. Alice closed her eyes, waiting for Sherlock to pull the trigger.

Chapter Text

The door at the deep end of the pool opened once more, allowing Moriarty to reenter. "Sorry boys, and girl, I'm sooooo changeable!" He cheerfully sang as more red dots began to dance over John and Sherlock's bodies. "It is a weakness with me. But to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue; you just can't. I would try to convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind," 

"Probably my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock responded, lowering his pistol at the bomb. Before he could pull the trigger, 'Stayin' Alive' began to play. The trio looked around the room, confused,

"The Bee Gees?" Alice whispered to herself. 

Jim closed his eyes and sighed, irritated. "D'you mind if I get that?"

"Go ahead, please. You've got the rest of your life," Sherlock replied, gesturing with his gun.

Jim pulled out his phone from his pocket and answered it."Hello?... Yes, of course, it is. What do you want?" Suddenly he spun around. "SAY THAT AGAIN!" He yelled into the phone, his voice resonating throughout the room. "Say that again, and know that if you are lying to me; I will find you and I will skin you," Jim hissed before turning around to face the trio. "Sorry, wrong day to die,"

"Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock casually asked.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," Moriarty turned back around and walked towards the door at the deep end of the pool, continuing his conversation. Reaching for the door handle, he snapped his fingers. Instantly, the red dots disappeared from John and Sherlock. The three all let out a breath of relief. Alice stood up, looking at the upper floor for any signs of the snipers.

"What happened there?" John asked.

"Someone changed his mind," Sherlock responded.

"The question is: who?" Alice added.

*****

The next few weeks went by normal. The boys were solving smaller cases; occasionally consulting Alice if they needed a third opinion. She had met with Mycroft a couple of weeks after the incident at the pool to describe what had transpired and to deliver freshly baked goods.

*

"I want to apologize, Alice," Mycroft said, pouring Alice a cup of tea. "I highly doubt that this is what you expected when you decided to holiday here,"

"I knew what I was getting into when I joined them. But I appreciate the sentiment, Mycroft." Alice stated, taking the saran wrap off the plate of macarons and brownies. "Sherlock handled the case well enough,"

"It seems my brother might harbor some romantic feelings for you,"

"No," Alice stated, looking straight into Mycroft's eyes. "Sherlock merely respects me. Well, he respects my intelligence. It's just friendship between us, nothing more," She handed him a plate with a brownie and a cucumber sandwich to along with the tea they were sharing. "Besides, a relationship with anyone here wouldn't work out. I'll have to go to my old life at some point,"

"If you chose to stay for longer, for whatever reason, I am sure that some sort of agreement can be arranged,"

"Are you asking for me to stay, Mycroft?" Alice asked, taking a sip of her tea. Mycroft had a look of insecurity. Alice smirked and placed her cup back in its saucer. "Don't worry Mycroft, I'm taking this vacation one day at a time." She placed the cup and saucer on the table in front of her  "But to the other reason why I came: Moriarty received a call right before he was going to blow us all up, could you do your best to find out who it was,"

"I can try to look into it,"

"Thank you," Alice stood up from her chair, preparing to leave.

"Alice," Mycroft said, getting up from his chair as well, "Thank you for letting me know; this case involving the three of you,"

"You would have found out sooner or later, I know about the cameras in the boys' flat. Not to mention the ample resources you have at your disposal to follow the three of us,"

"I must admit, you catch on quite quickly,"

Alice shrugged. "It's what I do, and I do it well. Until next time, Mycroft," Alice smiled and left the room,"

*****

Sherlock sat in the living room in his thinking position. "John,"

"hmm?" John said, looking up from his phone.

"I've been thinking. Moriarty mentioned that Alice was important,"

"Maybe he was just trying to get to you," 

"No," Sherlock said, thinking.

"No?"

"She caught Mycroft's attention. Not only that, she knew he was my brother. You were there when she solved the Connie Prince murder."

"It was rather impressive,"

"Even her first case, when we saved you and Sarah. I told you, there was no hesitation in helping."

"Are you suggesting that she know's something?" 

"Only one way to find out,"

**

Alice walked into her flat to find Sherlock and John sitting in her living room. "John, I'm disappointed in you, entering my apartment without permission? I would expect that from Sherlock, but you?" She sighed after seeing their faces; full of intrigue. "You two have questions," She placed her handbag on the table next to the door and sat on her sofa. "What do you want to know?"

"How?" John asked, not knowing what to say. "How are you able to deduce Sherlock? How were you able to solve those cases so easily? How-"

"Let me get us some coffee and desserts," Alice said, standing up. "It's a long story," After five minutes Alice had returned with a tray baked goods in one hand and a pot of tea in the other. 

"I grew up in Washington D.C. When I was five, I got my I.Q. tested, a month later I was accepted into MENSA. I skipped a couple of grades and ended up graduating high school when I was 14. Once I was accepted at college, my life changed. I attended a local private university, originally majoring in medicine before changing to criminalistics and chemistry. I graduated early, and at the top of my class. I interned at the Capital and Department of Justice for a couple of years. I assisted multiple senators, congressmen, and supreme court justices. When I graduated, I was recruited by the Department of Defense."

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. She was more dangerous than she looked.

"I was trained to be a potential field agent for the FBI and CIA." Alice continued "I can hack into other country's computer data in under five minutes, shoot a gun with a 99% accuracy, and make some pretty good desserts, among other things. Deductions and observations come naturally to me. I must admit, it is a skill I learned as a young girl from my grandmother. College and the DoD simply helped me find ways to utilize it. However, I prefer to keep most of my deductions to myself. I find it easier to go through life that way."

"So that is why Moriarty said you were special," John said. "If you wanted to, you could destroy everything,"

"Exactly, I'm amazed that Mycroft even talks to me, considering the damage I can do. Granted he knows where my morals are, and that I have no interest in causing trouble," Alice said, giving John a look of comradery. " My employment at the DoD is something that I'd like to forget. I left the DoD after a few years. I went back to school, got a few more degrees. After that, I did some freelance jobs for a few years. I finally found a job in a small bookshop a few months ago. It's nice and quiet,"

"When you say enhanced..." 

"I had begun to learn to code in high school and was pretty advanced by the time I was hired by the DoD," Alice explained. "According to one of the higher-ups, they had never seen a recruit so prepared for the job, especially one who had no interest in working as an agent when hired,"

"Why?" Sherlock asked, speaking out for the first time since Alice arrived home. "You have so much potential, why bother working in a book shop?"

"Because no one ever bothers to pay attention to a girl in a shop. I have the freedom to go by unnoticed by everyone and go about my business." Alice said, pouring herself another cup of tea. "It's a gift,"

"What's with the baking?" John asked, grabbing another cookie.

"It helps me think and it calms me down. Baking is just another form of chemistry; the only difference is that you can eat the results,"

"Is there anything you can't do?" John asked, "Genius, amazing baker, and can even amaze Sherlock and Mycroft," 

Alice let out a slight laugh at John's comment. "Look, I love solving crimes with you two. I like the thrill. Though, I don't use it as an alternative to getting high," Alice gave Sherlock a look at her last statement.

"I don't know how I'm going to survive Sherlock without you," John said.

"You'll manage; you did it before," Alice said, letting out a laugh.

"John, could you please leave us alone for a few minutes?" Sherlock asked his flatmate, his attention was still on the woman who sat in front of them.

"Uh, sure," John said, getting up from his seat. "Thank you, Alice, for trusting us enough to tell us this,"

Once John left, Sherlock took a seat next to Alice on her sofa. "Mycroft knows, in case you were wondering," Alice said, looking up to meet Sherlock's gaze. "He read my file after our initial meeting. I think I surprised him,"

"Alice, I want to say that I am sorry that you were put in that position. Moriarty is a rat who-"

"Sherlock, you have no reason to apologize. I knew every time I joined you two on a case that my life could be at risk. I told your brother the same thing earlier,"

"Did he say anything else?"

"He's under the impression that you have feelings for me." Sherlock froze at that statement, unsure of what to say. "No worries, I shut down that rumour immediately. You're married to your job andI have baggage that i don't feel like unpacking anytime soon,"

"Alice, I want to let you know, I will protect you from Moriarty," Sherlock said sincerely. His hands grasped her shoulders and he stared deep into her dark brown eyes.

"Thank you, Sherlock," Alice said, slightly smiling. She wanted to believe him, but she knew better. James Moriarty had eyes and ears all over London. If Moriarty was able to dig up dirt on her life in the U.S., there was no doubt he had allies all over the world who knew of her,"

Sherlock stood up and headed for the door, nodding his head in respect. "Though, you should be thanking me," Alice said, walking him out.

"Whatever for?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the hallway.

"For my help on your cases. I don't want my name on the blogs but a simple 'thank you' would suffice,"

Sherlock let out a nervous cough before expressing his gratitude.

"You're welcome," Alice let out a light chuckle before closing her door and locking it.

Unknown to her, Sherlock was suppressing a smile and a blush as he walked up to his flat.

Chapter Text

Alice and John sat in a police car on their way to the countryside. "What are we doing?" John asked, still confused as to how he and Alice ended up in their current situation.

"We're investigating a crime scene because Sherlock is being a jackass and refusing to cooperate," Alice replied, typing on her phone.

Earlier that morning a man had come to the flat requesting for Sherlock's expertise. His car had broken down the day before on a quiet, country road. He had noticed a hiker standing in the nearby field, his back to the road. When he restarted his car, it backfired. When he got out of the car again, the hiker was no longer there. 

"Who are you texting?" John asked.

"Mycroft,"

"Why?"

"Because sometimes it's nice to take a break and have someone else deal with Sherlock," 

"Why is he making us do this?" John pointed to the laptop between them.

"Again, he is a jackass." Alice looked out the car window, "We're here,"

Having expected a casual looking man, Detective Inspector Carter was surprised to find an attractive young woman step out of the car "Sherlock Holmes?"

"Alice Whitmer," Alice introduced herself to DI Carter. "You must be Detective Inspector Carter,"

"Yes, ma'am," Carter then turned his attention to John. "And you are...?"

"John Watson," John said as he stood by Alice's side, "Are you set up for wi-fi?"

Ten minutes later, Alice and John were walking with DI Carter through the field. "You do realize that this is a tiny bit humiliating," John asked Sherlock who was on the laptop screen.

"It's okay, I'm fine," Sherlock said, grabbing a mug of tea before walking over to his open laptop. "Now, show me the stream,"

"I didn't really mean it for you," John groaned.

"Look, this is a six. There's no point in me leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now go back and show me the grass, closer," Sherlock instructed. Alice complied and adjusted the screen. 

"When did we agree that?" John asked.

"We agreed on it yesterday, Stop!" Sherlock leaned closer to his computer screen to get a better view of the mud on the ground.

"I wasn't even home yesterday. I was in Dublin," John argued, turning the laptop around so Sherlock could see him. "D'you just carry on talking when I'm away,"

"Yep, normally I try to tune him out," Alice said, taking the laptop out of John's hands and pointing it towards the car that backfired.

"Now show me the car that backfired," Sherlock instructed once more, Alice rolled her eyes but complied. "That's the one that made the noise, yes?"

"No, it was the other car," Alice said sarcastically. "Do you have to be dressed in just a sheet? You couldn't even bear to wear a shirt and pants?"

"Proper dress requires at least a six and a half,"

"I am rally tempted to punch you right now," Alice mumbled. "If you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one. He was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which magically disappeared along with the killer. I've already narrowed it down to two possibilities."

"That's got to be an eight at least," John added. 

"You've got two more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver," Carter said, reminding the trio that he was there.

"Oh forget him, he's an idiot," Sherlock said, waving his hand "Why else would he think himself a suspect,"

"I think he's a suspect," Carter argued back.

"Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police?" Sherlock asked, mocking Detective Inspector Carter.

"He's trying to be confident,"

"A morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict, the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition, low self-esteem and a limited life expectancy. And you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?" Sherlock asked Carter.

"What did you say?" Their client asked from behind Sherlock "Heart what?" 

"Go to the stream," Sherlock instructed.

"What's in the stream?" Carter asked.

"Please just go and see. You might find the answers in the craziest places," Alice said to Carter, walking back to the road and John. 

"You both solved it didn't you?" John asked, seeing Alice's smirk as she handed him the laptop.

"Easy enough. Think about it: the hiker was looking up, what was he waiting for?" Alice turned to see John tapping the keyboard, trying to fix something.

"I've lost him- I don't know what-" John said, confused.

A young officer walked up to the two of them holding a phone. "Dr.Watson, Miss. Whitmer, it's for you,"

"Yeah, thanks," John replied, holding out his hand for the phone

"Uh, no sir. The helicopter," The officer corrected. John and Alice turned around to find a large black helicopter landing at the end of the field. John looked at Alice, confusion written all over his face.

Chapter Text

John and Alice looked at each other as they were led through a maze of hallways in Buckingham Palace. After what seemed like forever, the two found themselves in a large sitting room. Alice sighed when she saw Sherlock sitting on one of the sofas, still wrapped up in his bedsheet. On the coffee table in front of him, sat a pile of his clothes and a pair of shoes. He looked at John who held out his hands as if to say 'What the hell are we doing here?'. Sherlock shrugged and moved over so that the three of them could fit on one sofa. Alice sighed and sat down on the couch. John followed suit, looking around at the ornate decorations. He sat next to Alice, who was now wedged between the two men.

John glanced over to Sherlock, failing to see any signs of him wearing underwear.

"Are you wearing any pants?" John asked, slightly nervous to hear the answer.

"No," Sherlock responded, proud of himself.

"Okay," 

All three of them let out a burst of laughter.

"Buckingham Palace... alright," Alice said through her laughter.

"I am seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray," John confessed, making the three of them laugh again. "Seriously Sherlock, what are we doing here?"

"I don't know," Sherlock grinned. 

"Here to see the queen?" John joked.

All three turned at the sound of Mycroft entering the room.

"Apparently yes," Sherlock declared. The trio began laughing again. Alice was better at hiding her giggles better than the boys on either side of her.

"Just once can you behave like grownups?" Mycroft questioned, his voice full of disdain and annoyance. 

"We solve crimes, John blogs about it, and Sherlock is currently only wearing a sheet. I wouldn't hold out to much hope," Alice stated, grinning from ear to ear.

Mycroft stepped forward, standing across from the trio. "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft," Sherlock bitterly said, looking up at his older brother."

"What? The hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report; a bit obvious surely," Mycroft provoked.

Alice looked up at Mycroft, "Transparent, hence why John and I were sent out to the countryside for the case. Why did you even bother looking at it?"

Mycroft looked at Alice for a few seconds, unsure of what to say, before turning his attention back to Sherlock. "Time to move on then," He leaned down and picked up the pile of Sherlock's clothes. Mycroft sighed, annoyed at his younger brother's behaviour. "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on." Mycroft said sternly.

"Whatever for?" Sherlock asked, shrugging.

"Your client,"

Sherlock stood up, his hands clutching his sheet. "And my client is?"

"Illustrious..." Another man said as he entered the room "...In the extreme." John and Alice immediately stood up in respect. "And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous," The man turned to Mycroft, "Mycroft,"

"Harry," Mycroft walked over to shake the equerry's hand. "May I apologize for the state of my little brother?"

"Full-time occupation, I imagine," Harry joked, causing Sherlock to scowl. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers,"

"Hello, yes," The two shook hands.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog, particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch," Harry complimented before moving over to Alice. Instead of shaking her hand; Harry bowed slightly and kissed her knuckles. "And you must be Alice. It is a pleasure to meet you,"

Alice smiled back at the man. "Likewise, sir,"

Harry continued to smile and turned to Sherlock. "And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in the photographs,"

"I take the precaution of a good coat and short friends," Sherlock said curtly. He looked at his brother in disgust. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases both ends is too much work," He turned round to Harry, "Good Morning,"

Sherlock began to make his way out of the room, walking past Mycroft who stepped on the sheet trailing behind him. The sheet began to fall but Sherlock caught it before is rear-end was exposed to the rest of the room.

"This is a matter of national importance; grow up!" Mycroft angrily scolded.

"Get off my sheet!"

Mycroft cocked his head, taunting his younger brother. "Or what?"

”Or I’ll just walk away,” Sherlock threatened.

"I'll let you,"

Alice, who had enough of the scene in front of her, walked up to the brothers. "Boys, please, not here," she pleaded.

"Who. Is. My Client?" Sherlock seethed, still holding his sheet around his waist.

Mycroft, who had now stepped off of the sheet, looked sternly at his brother. "Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake!" he yelled before calming down, "Put your clothes on!"

Sherlock took a deep breath but still stood his ground.

Alice rolled her eyes and walked to the coffee table. "Where is the nearest restroom?" Alice asked, picking up the pile of clothes.

"Down the hall and to the left," Mycroft said.

"Thank you," Alice said, grabbing Sherlock's hand and dragging him behind her. The three men looked at each other, speechless.

Alice shoved Sherlock into the private bathroom and placed the clothes on the counter next to the sink. She rummaged through the pile and handed him his underwear and trousers. Once Sherlock took the clothes from her hand, she turned around and covered her eyes. "Because of your track record, I have to be in the same room to make sure you actually do as your told." After a few minutes, Sherlock let out an awkward cough, signaling that his trousers were on. Alice turned around and rolled her eyes. "Do you honestly need my help to put on your shirt and suit jacket too?" She handed him his shirt and jacket and left the bathroom. 

Sherlock obliged, slightly wishing that he could apologise to her. She was one of the few people who could see through him. But for some reason he couldn't see through her. Alice had her barriers up, not as much as she had when they first met, but some were still there.

Once dressed, he walked out of the restroom to see Alice by the door with her arms folded, waiting for him. "Alice, I..." He began to say, before being interrupted. 

"I know you could easily tell where you were going. The hair from the corgis and expensive suit should have been enough. Every worker here has a bit of the shedding at the bottom of their clothing. Is your petty feud with your brother so important that you insist on arriving and sitting in Buckingham Palace in just a sheet?" Alice waited for a response while Sherlock buttoned up his jacket. Getting no response, she sighed and grabbed his wrist. "Come on. They've been waiting for us long enough,"

Chapter Text

When Sherlock and Alice got back to the sitting room, a tea tray had been set out on the coffee table. Mycroft and Harry sat across from the trio on the opposite sofa. "I'll be mother," Mycroft said, pouring tea for everyone.

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock said sarcastically. Alice lightly smacked the consulting detective upside the head. "Ow,"

Mycroft glared at Sherlock before setting down the expensive teapot on the table. "A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially dangerous criminal nature. And in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen,"

"Why?" Sherlock asked "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?" He continued rudely.

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr.Holmes?" Harry asked.

"Not, to date, anyone with a navy," Sherlock countered.

"This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust," Mycroft said, annoyed at the disobedience of his brother.

"You don't trust your own secret service?" John asked, looking at the two government officials.

"Naturally not," Alice quipped "They all spy on people for money," Alice smirked "Allegiance can easily be bought from those who work in that sort of field,"

Mycroft eyed Alice suspiciously for a second.  

"I do believe we have a time table that we should get back to," Harry reminded his co-worker.

"Yes of course," Mycroft said, taking out a file from his briefcase. "What do you know about this woman?" He asked, handing Sherlock a large photograph.

The trio looked at the photograph of a woman in her late twenties giving a sultry look. "Nothing whatsoever," Sherlock said

"Then you should have been paying more attention," Mycroft scolded "She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants; separately,"

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia," Sherlock mocked "Who is she?"

"Irene Adler. Professionally known as 'The Woman'," 

"Professionally?" John asked.

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers the term 'dominatrix'," Mycroft explained with a straight face.

"Dominatrix," Sherlock murmured to himself thoughtfully.

"Don' be alarmed. It has to do with sex,"

Sherlock's head immediately snapped up. "Sex doesn't alarm me,"

"How would you know?" Mycroft asked, knowing that he had struck a nerve. "She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are willing to pay for it," Mycroft handed them more photos from the folder. "These are all from her website,"

Sherlock flipped through the prints while John and Alice looked over his shoulder. "I assume Miss. Adler possesses some compromising photographs. Photographs of whom?" Alice asked, getting straight to the point. 

Mycroft and Harry shared a concerned look with one another. "A person of significance to my employer," Harry said, turning to Alice "We prefer not to say any more at this time,"

"You can't tell us anything?" John questioned.

"I can tell you it's a young person...a young female person," Mycroft said, taking a deep breath. 

Alice raised her eyebrows in acknowledgment. "How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently," Mycroft answered, trying to keep his answers short.

"I take it that our young female person appears in these photos alongside Miss. Adler, and in a number of compromising scenarios, no doubt," Alice said as she placed her cup of tea back in its saucer.

"Can you help us, Mr.Holmes?" Harry asked.

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"Will you take the case?" The equerry asked again.

"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss. Adler remarks in her masthead, 'Know when you are beaten',"  Sherlock responded, grabbing his coat.

"She doesn't want anything," Mycroft said, causing Sherlock to turn back to face his brother. "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed. She indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour,"

"Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock," John mumbled, trying to remind his friend the seriousness of their new case.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, turning around to get his coat.

"In London currently, she's staying-" Mycroft began to say.

"Text me the details," Sherlock interrupted, walking towards the door with John following. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day,"

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry questioned, following the Sherlock to the exit.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs,"

"One can only hope you're as good as they say," 

"I will be in need of some equipment,"

"Anything you require," Mycroft replied as kindly as he could. "I'll have it sent to-"

"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock interrupted, holding out his hand. "Or a cigarette lighter. Either ill do,"

"I don't smoke," Harry said cautiously.

"I know you don't, but your one of your employers do,"

After a brief moment, Harry pulled out a lighter from his pant pocket and handed it to Sherlock. "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this, Mr. Holmes,"

"Don't worry, I'm not the Commonwealth," Sherlock gave the group a sly smile and left the room.

"And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you," John said to the two officials as he followed Sherlock out the door.

Mycroft sighed as he said goodbye to Harry, who was called to another part of the palace. He turned around, surprised to see Alice still sitting on the sofa, sipping her cup of tea.

"That must have been hard," Alice gestured for Mycroft to sit back down. "Having to ask your younger brother for assistance."

"His name had arisen,"

"Hmm," Alice smirked. "Why did you have me come to the palace? I'm not officially part of the team nor am I contractually obliged to assist you or the commonwealth."

"You have proven yourself to be trustworthy. I must say, I appreciate your messages this morning, and you forcing my brother to get dressed. I don't think even John could have managed to do that,"

"Like your friend said, dealing with Sherlock is a fulltime job. Besides, him choosing to go nude in Buckingham Palace would be a PR nightmare for all of us. Sherlock is too stubborn to realize that there is no way in hell he's going to get those photos."

"I agree wholeheartedly,"

"And your too stubborn to see that Miss. Adler is also playing you."

"I'm sorry?"

"I feel responsible to let you know that you should prepare for any possible favours that Miss. Adler will no doubt request."

"She assured us that she had no intention to use them,"

"What is with you two and not understanding human nature. I can understand Sherlock, but you, Mycroft? If anything, this is being careful and logical. You said earlier that she was a part of two political scandals, and that was just in the last year. People will be after her seeking revenge. She'll need some form of protection. How will she ensure her safety? Why not threaten the most powerful family in one of the most powerful nations. It's simple,"

Mycroft looked at Alice, stunned by her observation. Alice, seeing this, smiled and stood up.  "If that is the case," Mycroft said, with his head buried in one of his hands. "And if Sherlock fails, I must request that you stay in London until the matter is dealt with,"

Chapter Text

Alice was surprised to find that Sherlock and John were still in their flat when she arrived back at Baker Street. "I thought you two were going to see Miss. Adler," Alice said as she walked into the boys' living room.

"Sherlock insisted that he needed the right 'armour'," John said, sitting in his chair.

"D- did Sherlock steal that ashtray from the palace?" Alice asked, pointing to the glass ashtray on the coffee table.

"Yep,"

"Ah, Alice," Sherlock said, coming out of his room "You're just in time,"

The trio sat in the back of a taxi on their way to meet The Woman. "So what's the plan?" John asked, praying he would get a straightforward answer. "You haven't changed your clothes,"

"Well, we know her address," Sherlock stated.

"We're just going to walk up and ring her doorbell?"

"Exactly," Sherlock said. John and Alice looked at each other nervously. "Just here please," Sherlock called out to the cabbie. The three got out of the cab and Sherlock led them down a narrow sidestreet.

"Are we here?" Alice asked, looking around at the white stucco buildings.

"Two streets away, but this will do. It's time to add a dash of colour," Sherlock said, pulling off his scarf. "Punch me in the face," He instructed John.

John looked at him, confused by Sherlock's request. "Punch you?"

"Yes, punch me in the face!" Sherlock gestured to his left cheek. "Didn't you hear me?" 

"We always hear 'punch me in the face' when you talk, but it's usually subtext. Granted, I'm still pissed at you for making John and I go out into the countryside for one of your cases," Alice commented before stepping forward and aggressively hooking Sherlock's left cheek.

Sherlock stepped back from the force. He hadn't expected that much force from someone of Alice's stature. He lifted his hand to his cheek, slightly amazed to find the feeling of blood on his fingertips."Thank you, that was- that was..." Before he could finish his sentence, John lunged forward and punched Sherlock in the face and stomach- causing him to fall to the ground.

"Uh, guys?" Alice said to the two men fighting on the ground in front of her. "I think we've managed the make whatever story Sherlock's come up with believable," Naturally, both of them couldn't hear her.

"I think that's enough John," Sherlock chocked out, having been caught in a headlock.

"You forget Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people!" John heaved.

"You were a doctor!"

"I had bad days!"

"Boys," Alice called out, ready to move on. She groaned, walking forward to pry off John from Sherlock. "I suggest that we all get back to the matter at hand," the two men nodded and the trio walked to the address Mycroft had sent them

John and Alice waited on the curb as Sherlock walked up to the door. He now had a white paper collar on and took a handkerchief out from his coat pocket. "Feel better?" Alice asked John, referring to him punching Sherlock. "You seemed to have let out quite a bit of pent up anger there,"

"Yep," John replied, smiling. The two let out a laugh before turning their attention back on their friend. After a few minutes, Sherlock entered the flat, followed by John and Alice.

"We saw it all happen. It's okay, my boyfriend's a doctor," Alice said to what she concluded was Irene's assistant. "Do you happen to have a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen," The women nodded, leading John and Alice away. "There's a sitting room upstairs if you want to wait for the police to arrive," The woman said to Sherlock.

Sherlock sat on the sofa in an elegant sitting room. Hearing footsteps approaching, he sat up and held his handkerchief to his bruised cheek.

"Hello, Sorry to hear that you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your name," Irene said from the doorway.

"I'm so sorry, I'm..." Sherlock turned and was shocked to see Irene standing in the doorframe. Aside from her high heels, she was completely nude.

"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" Irene walked forward and stood in front of him. She reached forward and removed Sherlock's white-collar. "There, now we're both defrocked, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,"

"Miss. Adler, I presume,"

Irene narrowed her eyes and bit down onto the edge of the dog collar.

"Right, this should do it," John said as he and Alice walked into the room, both stopping dead in their tracks seeing the scene in front of them. "We missed something, didn't we,"

"Please sit down," Irene said, walking towards a nearby armchair.  "If you'd like some tea, I can call the maid,"

"I had some at the palace," Sherlock stated.

"I know," Irene countered. She sat down and crossed her legs and folded her arms to obscure the view of her chest. Alice looked at John and made her way to another armchair across from Irene.

"I had tea too, at the palace, if anyone's interested," John spoke, still standing in the doorway.

Sherlock stared at Irene, trying to deduce her. He continued staring at her before turning to look at John and then back at Irene. Sherlock frowned, unsure why he couldn't get a read off of her.

"D'you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" Irene asked. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait,"

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?"

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself," Irene answered.

"She's got that right," Alice commented to herself. Irene turned to gin at here, obviously hearing Alice's statement.

"Could you put something on please?" John asked, laughing awkwardly. "Anything at all,"

"Why?" Irene asked, almost taunting the poor doctor. "Are you feeling exposed?"

"I don't think John knows where to look," Sherlock commented, offering his coat to Irene.

"No, I think he knows exactly where," Irene turned to Sherlock and took his coat from him. "I'm not sure about you,"

"If I wanted to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop."

"You do borrow my laptop," John said.

"He confiscates it," Alice mubled to herself.

"Well, never mind," Irene said, wrapping the coat around her. "We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me, how was it done?" Irene asked, removing her shoes as she sat back down. "The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?"

"That's not why I'm here," Sherlock said slowly.

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs but that's never going to happen. And since we're here just chatting anyway,"

"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" John asked, curious about how she got that information.

"She knows what one of the policemen likes," Alice said, earning a nod from Irene.

"And how do you know that?" Sherlock asked, turning his attention to Alice.

"Look at her," Alice gestured to Irene as if it were obvious.

"Oh," John said, sitting down next to Sherlock. 'And you like policemen?"

"I like detective stories and detectives," Irene said "Brainy is the new sexy,"

"Positionofthecar," Sherlock said incoherently. Alice, John, and Irene stared at him as he stood up and began to pace. "The position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head,"

"Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?" Irene asked, curious.

"I know he wasn't,"

"You don't think it was murder?" 

"I know it wasn't,"

"How?"

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned form foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room." Sherlock declared.

"Okay, but how?"

Sherlock stopped his pacing and turned to Irene. "So they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no one in," John exchanged a look with Sherlock before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

"Two men alone in the countryside, several yards apart, and one car," Sherlock stated, starting to pace again.

"Oh, I thought you were looking for the photos now," Irene said, looking at Sherlock, then at Alice.

"Looking takes ages, I'm just going to find them but you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment, so let’s pass the time," Sherlock stopped pacing and turned towards Irene. "Two men, a car and nobody else. The driver's trying to fix his engine; getting nowhere. And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky. Watching the birds? Any moment now, something is going to happen, what?"

"The hiker's going to die," Irene said.

"No," Alice said, correcting Irene's deduction. "That's the result. What's going to happen?"

"I don't understand," Irene admitted, looking at Alice.

"Well try to," Sherlock belittled.

"Why?" Irene challenged.

"Because you cater to the whims of pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It's the new sexy,"

"The car is going to backfire," Irene realized.

"There's going to be a loud noise," Alice explained further.

"So what?" 

"Oh, noises are important," Sherlock said, "Noises can tell you everything. For instance..." A few seconds later, the smoke alarm went off. Immediately, her eyes drifted from Sherlock and to the mirror over the wall. Noticing this, Sherlock walked towards the mirror. "On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities," Sherlock began to run his fingers along the bottom of the mantlepiece. He flipped the switch and the mirror slid upwards, revealing a safe. "I really hope you don't have a baby in here,"

"Not the best time for a joke right now," Alice commented as Irene stood up.

"Right," Sherlock said, "John, you can turn it off now,"

"Give me a minute," John called from the hallway. 

"Sherlock," Alice said, hearing a gun firing from the hallway. 

Sherlock still focused on his deductions, turned back to the safe, looking closely at the number pad. "You should always use gloves with these things. Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used- that's obviously a three- but after that, the sequence is almost impossible to read. I'd say from the maker, it's a six-digit code. 

"It can't be your birthday. No disrespect, but you were clearly born in the '80s. 8 is barely used so-"

"I'd tell you the code right now," Irene said "But you know what? I already have. Think,"

The door burst open and a CIA agent walked in, aiming his gun at Sherlock.

"Hands behind your head," He ordered Sherlock before turning his attention to Irene. "On the floor, keep still," 

Three more agents walked in, one with his gun to John's back. "Sorry, Sherlock," John said with his hands above his hand. 

"Miss. Adler on the floor." The head agent said as another agent shoved Irene onto her knees, his pistol pointed to the back of her neck.

"Matthew Neilson, what fuck?" Alice said to the lead agent. He walked over to her and smiled.

"Hi, Ally. So this is where you went. How long has it been, 3-4 years now? Mind getting on your knees too? I'd hate to be the one to inform your family of your early demise," Neilson said.

Alice complied and put her hands up over her head. One agent stepped forward and aimed his gun at the back of Alice's head. "Cause we both know that would end well," she mumbled under her breath. Alice looked up at Sherlock, his face full of shock, confusion, and worry.

"Do you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked the lead agent.

"No sir, I want you to open the safe."

"American," Sherlock said, taking note of the accent and Alice's familiarity with the agents. "Interesting. Why would you care?" 

"Sir, the safe. Now!" 

"I don't know the code,"

"We've been listening; she told you,"

"Well, if you've been listening, you'd know she didn't" Sherlock argued.

"I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't," Neilson argued back.

"For God's sake," John yelled, "She's the one who knows the code. Ask her," he gestured to Irene with his head.

"Yes," Neilson said not looking at John "She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman,"

"Mr. Holmes doesn't-" Irene spoke.

"Shut up. One more word out of you- just one- and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head," Neilson turned and smiled at Alice, who still had a gun pointed at her. "Ally,"

"I know what you're thinking Matt," Alice said, looking up at the American agent. "There are no clues in the room that could easily hint at the passcode. Like Sherlock said before, it isn't a birthdate. I can guarantee you that she did not tell us the code. Besides, that type of safe isn't one that I can hack on a whim- even if I wanted to,"

"Good to know, Ally," Neilson smiled.

Sherlock glared at the American agent. 

"Mr. Archer, at the count of three, shoot Alice Whitmer," Neilson commanded.

"What?" John exclaimed.

"I don't have the code," Sherlock said with a hint of nervousness.

"One," Neilson began to count down.

"I don't know the code!"

"Two,"

"She didn't tell me. I don't know it!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now," 

Sherlock looked over to Irene, desperate for any hints. Irene lowered her gaze, gesturing downwards. Just as Neilson was about to give Agent Archer the signal to shoot Alice, Sherlock understood what Irene meant.

"Thr-" Neilson began to say

"No, Stop!" Sherlock exclaimed. Archer pulled back his pistol. Sherlock hesitantly typed in 32-24-34. The safe beeped and the lock slid open. John and Alice let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Now open it,"

Sherlock looked over to Irene who lowered her gaze to the floor and made a tiny jerk with her head. He gripped the handle then exclaimed "Vatican Cameos," opening the safe.

Alice felt John grab her and the two dove to the floor. Sherlock ducked down below the fireplace. Inside the safe was a tripwire connected to a gun. When pulled, the wire would pull the trigger of the gun which fired and shot Archer in the chest. Irene elbowed the man behind her in the groin and took his gun before hitting him with the gun, making him fall to the floor. Sherlock took Matt's gun and knocked him unconscious. John stood up and aimed his pistol at another agent while Alice ran over and took Agent Archer's pulse.

"Sorry, Alex," Alice knelt down to close his eyes. "They'll be more of them," She said, standing back up. Sherlock nodded and he and John rushed outside. She saw Irene rush to the safe. "Don't bother. Sherlock took the phone in all the hubbub,"

"I must admit, he was very observant." Irene said, turning around.

"Only when you gave the hint that they were your measurements,"

Irene gave her a flirtatious look. "Hmm,"

"Don't look at me like that, I'm not interested,"

Sherlock walked back into the room, flipping Irene's phone into the air and catching it again.

"Well, that's the knighthood in the bag,"

"And that's mine," Irene said, walking up to Sherlock holding out her hand.

"All the photographs are here, I presume,"

"I have copies, of course,"

"No, you don't. You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents on the phone are unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them,"

"Who said I was selling?" Irene questioned.

"Why else would they be interested?"

"That camera phone is my life. I'd die before I let you take it,"

"Sherlock!" John called from another room.

"It was," Sherlock said, putting the phone back in his pocket.

Chapter Text

Alice and Sherlock found John in the bedroom kneeling beside Kate, who was lying on the floor. "It's alight," John said to Irene, who was walking towards her assistant. "She's just out cold,"

"Well, God knows she's used to that," Irene commented, "There's a back door; better check it, Dr. Watson,"

John gave a concerned look to Sherlock. "I'll go with you," Alice said, leading John out of the bedroom. As the two left the room, Irene took a small syringe from her vanity.

"You're very calm," Sherlock commented, "Considering your booby trap did just kill a man,"

"He would have killed me. It was self-defense in advance," Irene said blankly. She walked across to Sherlock and stroked his left arm. When he looked down at her hand, she stabbed the syringe into his right arm before pulling it back out.

"What? What is that? What...?" Sherlock asked, affected by the drug that ran through his veins. Irene proceeded to slap him and he fell to the floor.

"Give it to me. Now. Give it to me," Irene instructed as she held out her hand.

"No," Sherlock said. He grunted as he stood back up, his vision becoming hazy.

"Oh for goodness sake," Irene reached for her riding crop on her table and wielded it at him. "Drop it. I...said...drop it," She hit him with each word.

On the third smack, he fell back onto the floor and dropped the phone.

"Ah, Thank you, dear," Irene said, picking the phone off the floor. "Now, tell that sweet little posh thing that the pictures are safe with me. Not for blackmail, just for insurance. Besides, I might want to see her again,"

Sherlock grunted again, trying to get up. Irene promptly pressed him back down with one of her feet and her riding crop. 

"Oh, no, no, no. It's been a pleasure. Don't spoil it," Irene began to stroke his face with her riding crop. "This is how I want you to remember me: The woman who beat you,"

"Jesus, What are you doing?" John yelled as he and Alice arrived back into the bedroom.

"He'll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for an unattractive corpse," Irene said as she sat on the windowsill in the bathroom. She grasped a chord of rope hanging from the ledge.

"What have you given him?" John asked picking up the syringe.

Alice knelt down beside the consulting detective. "Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"

"He'll be fine, I've used it on loads of my friends. You know, I was wrong about him," Irene said "He did know where to look,"

"For what? What are you talking about?" John asked, stand back up.

"The key code to my safe," Irene looked over to Sherlock, almost affectionately. "Shall I tell him? My measurements," Irene then toppled out of the window as the police sirens came closer.

***

Sherlock jerked back into consciousness. He found himself alone in his bed and covered with a sheet. "John? John!" He called out, throwing back the sheet and rolled onto the floor.

"You okay?" John asked as he entered Sherlock's room.

"How did I get here?" 

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much. You weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: Lestrade filmed you on his phone," John said as Sherlock struggled to get back up on his feet.

"Where is she?"

"Where's who?"

"The woman," Sherlock mumbled-yelled, still recovering from the drug.

"What woman? Alice?"

"No! The Woman woman!" Sherlock stumbled to the open window and looked through it.

"What, Irene Adler? She got away. No one saw her."

Sherlock turned around and dropped to the floor. He dragged his self across the room and looked under the bed.

"What are you?" John questioned, staring at his flatmate. "No, no, no. Back to bed," John pulled Sherlock off the ground and dropped him on the bed, face down. "You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course I'll be fine. I am fine," Sherlock mumbled into his pillow.

"Yes, you're great. I'll be next door if you need me,"

"Why would I need you?"

"No reason at all," John said as he closed the door behind him.

Alice sat with her laptop in the boys' living room. "How's he doing?" She asked, referring to Sherlock.

"He'll be fine in the morning," John sat in his chair across from Alice. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing really. Just checking emails, doing research, hacking into the CIA's database, the regular," Alice said, nonchalantly.

"Wait, did you just say that you were hacking into the CIA?"

"Yep,"

"Did you find anything interesting?'

"Eh, nothing that would be surprising," Alice smiled as she looked at the files.

_______

Central Intelligence Agency

File #29584

NAME: Irene Adler 

SEX: Female

DoB: -/-/81

CLASSIFICATION: Extremely Dangerous

LOCATION: 2/9/09: Alexandra, Va; EDIT: 2/25/10: New York, NY; EDIT: 6/8/10: London, England

 SUMMARY:

Ms. Irene Adler informed the CIA and FBI that she had photos involving a member of Sen. Jackson's Family in Feb 2009. She has also stated that she possesses similar photos of Congressman Harrison and a member of the Supreme Court.

FBI has provided protection for Ms. Adler while she resides in Washington.

EDIT:  2/25/10: Ms. Adler moved to New York City in Feb 2010. Two Weeks later- she was connected to a security breach at United Nations Headquarters. Ms. Adler escaped prosecution.

EDIT: 6/8/10: Ms. Adler was found in her home alongside Ms. Alice Whitmer [File #28402], Sherlock Holmes [File #58304], and Dr. John Watson by Agents Matthew Neilson, Alexander Archer, Brian Sowers, and Logan Davidson. Agent Alexander Archer was shot in the line of duty and died. Agents Matthew Neilson, Brian Sowers, and Logan Davidson were found unconscious by local police in Ms. Adler's home. Ms. Adler was not found in her house by local police and is considered to still be in London, England.

_______

Central Intelligence Agency

File #28402

NAME: Alice Ling Whitmer

SEX: Female

DoB: 7/12/1983

CLASSIFICATION: NOT A THREAT

LOCATION: 6/1/01: Washington, D.C.; EDIT: 6/8/10: London, England

SUMMARY:

Alice Whitmer, born to Charles Whitmer and Kim Whitmer (nee Chen) on July 12th, 1983. Ms. Whitmer Graduated High School in 1998. She graduated Summa Cum Laude from university in 2001 double majoring in Criminalistics and Chemistry with a minor in medicine. Interned at the United States Capitol, Department of Justice, and Supreme Court from age 16 to age 18. 

Alice Whitmer was recruited by the Federal Bureau of Investigations and the Central Intelligence Agency in June 2001 for potential employment as a field agent. Ms. Whitmer displayed proficiency in all required areas as well as special skills {See List}. Ms. Whitmer was promoted to field agent in January 2002.

EDIT: 5/19/05: Alice Whitmer left her positions at the Federal Bureau of Investigations and the Central Intelligence Agency in May 2006. 

EDIT: 5/8/06: Following her departure, Ms. Whitmer attended graduate school, earning her master's degree in Criminalistics and Chemistry. Ms. Whitmer is not considered to be a threat.

EDIT: 6/28/6: Alice Whitmer began to work freelance jobs as an agent under the direction of the CIA and FBI. {See file #482951 for further details}

EDIT: 6/8/10: Alice Whitmer was found in the home of Irene Adler [File #29584] in London England by Agents Matthew Neilson, Alexander Archer, Brian Sowers, and Logan Davidson. Ms. Whitmer was also joined by Sherlock Holmes [File #58304] and Dr. John Watson. Agent Alexander Archer was shot in the line of duty and died in the home of Irene Adler. Agent Brian Sowers has informed the Central Intelligence Agency that Alice Whitmer did not assist Irene Adler in Agent Archer's passing. 

_______

Chapter Text

Sherlock sat at the table beside John, who was eating one of the scones Alice had baked that morning.

"The photographs are perfectly safe," Sherlock said to his brother, flipping the page of his newspaper.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker?" Mycroft asked in disbelief. He stood in the middle of the boys' living room. 

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants...protection for some reason."

"So, blackmail," Alice commented, looking up from her laptop. "I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?" She asked, directing her question at Mycroft.

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied," Mycroft turned to look at Alice, who was sitting in Sherlock's chair.

"I did warn you. That camera phone is her 'get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone." Alice said.

"Treat her like royalty, Mycroft," Sherlock said.

"Though, not the way she treats royalty apparently," John remarked. Alice let out a laugh, appreciative of his quick wit.

Just then, the sound of a  fervent female moan came from Sherlock's phone; making everyone in the room look over in its direction.

"What was that?" John asked, surprised at the sudden noise.

"Text," Sherlock said, nonchalantly folding his paper.

"But why does it make that noise?" John asked again. Sherlock ignored John and walked over to pick up his phone.

Good morning, Mr. Holmes

"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent us in there? CIA-trained killers," Sherlock asked his older brother.

"Thanks for that, Mycroft," John sarcastically added. 

"A disgrace, Mycroft, sending your little brother into danger like that," Mrs. Hudson scolded, carrying in a plate from the kitchen and placing it in front of Sherlock, who was back at the table. "Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes,"

"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft frowned.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock reprimanded.

"Oi," John yelled at the same time.

Alice promptly stood up and smacked the back of Mycroft's head. 

Mycroft's scowl faded as he held the back of his head and looked around the room. He shuffled his feet before changing to a more professional stance and pleasant expression. "Apologies,"

"Thank you," Mrs. Hudson replied.

"Though do in fact shut up," Sherlock said to his landlady as she walked into the kitchen. Another moan came from Sherlock's phone

"Oh, it's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson said while standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

Sherlock ignored her and looked at the new message.

Feeling Better?

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far I can see," Sherlock said, putting his phone down.

"I can put maximum surveillance on her," Mycroft suggested. 

"Why bother?" Alice commented, "The CIA is already watching her. But if you are desperate to know what she's up to, feel free to follow her on Twitter. Her username is @TheWhipHand,"

"Yes, most amusing," Mycroft said to Alice before excusing himself to take a call.

"Why does your phone make that noise?" John asked Sherlock.

"What noise?"

"That noise- the one it just made"

"It's a text alert- it means I've received a text,"

"Your texts don't usually make that noise,"

"Well, somebody got a hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalized their alert noise,"

"And I am sure we all know it was," Alice smirked.

"So, every time they text you..." John was cut off by another text alert.

Alice smiled and let out a slight chuckle. "It would seem so,"

"But how would she have gotten a hold of your phone? Wasn't it in your coat pocket?"

"You're nearly there," Alice called out as John began to understand how Sherlock got his phone and his coat back. 

John turned around and looked at Alice who had her all-knowing smile on her face. "Did she really show up at the flat yesterday?"

"Maybe, who knows? A woman such as Irene Adler would a multitude of talents, whether or not she needs them for her job. You saw how she escaped yesterday,"

Mycroft walked back into the room. his phone still up at his ear. "Bond Air is go; that's decided. Check it with the Coventry lot. Talk later," Mycroft said before hanging up.

"Interesting flight name, I take it you didn't come up with it," Alice said, eyeing Mycroft. "And Coventry too? What exactly are you planning?"

"Nothing that should concern you," 

"What else does she have?" Sherlock asked his older brother. Mycroft looked at him curiously. "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There has to be more,"

"From what I could find, she is linked to quite a few security breaches in the US alone. And none of them involved anyone in the white house," Alice said as she closed her computer. "Something's coming,"

Mycroft gave a look of interest to the American next to him. "Yes, well, Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours," He said directly to his brother. "From now on you will stay out of this,"

"Oh, will I?" Sherlock taunted.

"Yes, Sherlock, you will," Mycroft commanded. Sherlock shrugged and turned away. "Now, if you excuse me, I should get back to work,"

"Out with it?" Alice said, turning towards Mycroft. It had become routine for Alice to walk Mycroft out. "I know damn well that you wouldn't have taken Sherlock off the case if it was just about those photos,"

"Something has come up and my brother failed at getting those photographs,"

"Yes, and one of my old friends was shot yesterday because of Irene. Let me guess, she called and requested protection from the CIA. I did warn you,"

"Yes and now I need your help," Mycroft said. One of his hands was one of her shoulders while the other held onto his umbrella. "You said so yourself that you weren't part of the team. I did ask for you to stay should Sherlock fail at getting those photographs," Mycroft held out his hand gesturing for Alice to get into the car with him. Alice let out a groan but got into the car.

"How did you manage to get this information?" Mycroft asked as the two sat in the living room in his home. Alice had handed him her phone which had the CIA files downloaded onto it.

"You've read my file, Mycroft. You should know that cybersecurity is a specialty of mine- among other things," Alice gave him a slight smile.

"I thought you said that all was behind you," Mycroft said, taking a sip of his drink.

"It is. But one should always know what they are up against. Especially if it involves someone at the heart of political scandals,"

"I should have listened to you," He said, handing the phone back to Alice.

"Yes, you should have," Alice sighed, "I am willing to help you but I want to make it clear that I am doing this as a freelance job. You- as Mycroft Holmes- will pay me what you see fit. As this is a freelance, I am choosing what projects I do. If anything is out of my comfort zone, I have the right to reject it,"

"Agreed," Mycroft said, handing her a check. "Thank you, Alice,"

"You were wrong; about your brother and me," 

"I'm not following,"

"He was drawn to her too. As I said, Sherlock is attracted to intelligence and Ms. Adler is highly intelligent,"

"You're just as intelligent, if not more, than my brother,"

"Don't flatter me, Mycroft. I already said I would take the job," Alice chastised as she stood up to leave.

"I must ask that you not tell my brother of this arrangement,"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Alice smiled as she left the Mansion. 

Chapter Text

Alice had moved into 221C for good; it seemed. She had converted her spare room into an office. The walls were now lined with shelves. Most of the shelves held books while others held equipment for her other hobbies. Her small desk was sat against the wall with the window while a fold-out couch sat by the door. It had been nearly six months since they last heard from The woman. Their lives had gone back to normal: solving cases and blogging about it. Alice would occasionally join the boys on the more pressing cases while helping out Mycroft when he needed her opinion and expertise.

"How is it already Christmas Eve?" John asked as he strung up fairy lights around the windows and throughout the room.

"I'm amazed too, this year seemed to go by so quickly," Alice said, placing her pecan pie on the kitchen table. She had been baking up a storm in preparation for the holiday party the trio was hosting that night. 

"You will behave for the guests, Sherlock," Alice said, turning her head around to face the detective. "No deductions," She ordered, "For one night, no deductions,"

"As you wish," Sherlock mumbled as he adjusted the fine tuners on his violin.

*

Alice sat beside Mrs. Hudson while Sherlock played 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas' on his violin. Sherlock finished the song with vibrato and bowed. John, his girlfriend Jeanette, Alice, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all applauded him.

"Lovely, Sherlock, that was lovely," Mrs. Hudson giggled. "I wish you could've worn the antlers,"

"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, placing his violin back on its stand.

"Don't worry. I'll send you a picture of him in the antlers later," Alice whispered to Mrs. Hudson, handing her a cup of tea. Alice frowned once she saw that Sherlock had insulted John's girlfriend Jeanette. 

"Alice, this cheesecake is fantastic," Lestrade said, as he took another bite of the slice of cake on his plate.

"I'm glad you like it," Alice replied.

"Hello everyone, it said on the door to just come up," Molly said, entering the flat with a bag full of presents. 

Alice walked over to Molly and took her coat. "Love the dress," Alice complimented, looking at Molly's little black dress.

"Having Christmas drinkies, then?" Molly asked the room.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me without Alice scolding them, so it's almost worth it," Mrs. Hudson said, making the two girls giggle.

"And it feels amazing to have the day off," Alice joked as she handed Molly a glass of red wine.

"Thank you," Molly said before turning to Lestrade "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We're back together; it's all sorted," Lestrade said happily.

"No, she's sleeping with a P.E. teacher," Sherlock interjected, his attention still on his computer.

"Shut up," Alice whispered to Sherlock.

"I meant to ask, how long will you be back in the states?" Molly asked Alice who had handed another glass of wine to Lestrade.

"Just two weeks. I promised my brother that I would celebrate Christmas and the New Year with them,"

"That sounds fun!" Molly smiled. "And, John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

"Yeah, for the first time ever, she's cleaned up her act," John said, proud of his sister.

"Nope," Sherlock commented.

"Shut up, Sherlock," Alice said, louder this time.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him," Sherlock said, getting up from his chair and walking to the pathologist. "In fact, you're seeing him his very night and giving him a gift!" 

"Sherlock, we agreed to take the day off," Alice said, her voice filled with anger. "So shut up and have a drink,"

"Oh come on, surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag. It's perfectly wrapped with a bow. It's for someone special then," Sherlock picked up the gift and inspected the wrapping paper. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick. This is either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love on her mind. Just look at her makeup and what she wearing, obviously trying to compensate for-" Sherlock stopped his deductions once he saw that the gift was addressed to him.

"You always say such horrible things," Molly said with a shaky breath. "Every time,"

"I'm sorry, forgive me," Sherlock softly kissed her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper,"

Just then, an erotic moan was heard throughout the room.

Molly's face turned bright red. "Oh, no, that wasn't-"

"No, it was me," Sherlock informed the group.

"Really?" Lestrade exclaimed in absolute surprise.

Seeing all the confused faces, Sherlock went more in-depth. "My phone,"

Sherlock walked over to the fireplace and taking the present sitting on the mantle. "Excuse me," he said as he headed for his bedroom

Alice, who had noticed the gift earlier excused herself as well and followed Sherlock to his bedroom. She stood outside the door and peered in. He opened the box and took out Irene's camera phone.

Alice walked back into the empty kitchen and pulled out her phone.

"Alice, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Mycroft said, his voice sounded almost happy.

"You're going to find Irene Adler tonight," Alice said, solemnly.

"We already know where she is,"

"No, you are going to find her dead,"

"Are you sure?" Mycroft said, his tone becoming more serious.

"Positive. Call me when he is on his way back to Baker Street,"

*

"He's on his way," Mycroft said into his phone "Have you found anything?"

"No, John's checking his room and I already searched the other possible place in the flat. Did he take the cigarette?" Alice said, standing in the middle of the boys' living room.

"Yes,"

"Fuck," Alice turned to John "He's coming. Ten minutes,"

"There's nothing in the bedroom," John said.

"It looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual hiding spots. Anthea's driving him, right?" Alice asked.

"Yes, so he couldn't have gone to one of the local drug dens," Mycroft replied.

"Are you sure tonight's a danger night?"

"No, but then I never am. One of you has to stay with him. I'd prefer it to be you, Alice,"

"Mycroft, I have to leave for my flight to D.C. in a couple of hours. I've already missed Christmas Eve," 

"Alice, please," Mycroft said, his voice was filled with worry and desperation.

Alice was shocked. Mycroft Holmes never begged. "Okay fine," Alice closed her eyes and hung up the call.

"Alice?" John asked, checking in on his friend. "What's going on?"

"I'm not going back to the U.S. tomorrow,"

"I should stay too. I saw your face, this is going to be a two-person job,"

"But what about Jeanette?"

"It didn't work out," John paused for a second. "What did Mycroft say?"

"Mycroft Holmes never begs, except for tonight," Alice sighed and started to walk downstairs, stopping on the landing. "He'll be here in about eight minutes. Mind taking the first shift?"

John nodded and reached for a book.

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood in the living room, composing a sad lament on his violin. It had been a week since he identified Irene's body at Bart's.

"What are you thinking about?" Alice asked from the doorway. "Sherlock, I know you. You compose when you think,"  She looked over to John for any clues, getting only a shrug in response.

Sherlock put down his violin and pointed to John's open computer with his bow. "The counter on your blog is still stuck at 1,895," He proclaimed.

John looked over at his computer. "Yeah, it's faulty. Can't seem to fix it,"

"Or you've been hacked and it's a message," Sherlock pulled Irene's phone out of his pocket and typed 1895 into the passcode. To his disappointment, the phone remained locked.

WRONG PASSCODE

3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING

"Just faulty," Sherlock said. He put the phone back into his pocket and resumed his lament.

"Right," John said, turning towards Alice "Well, we're going to out for a bit," Sherlock didn't respond and the two left the flat.

"Has he ever had any kind of relationship... ever?" Alice asked as they walked down the stairs.

"I don't know, he's Sherlock. You're the closest, other than Mycroft, to understand what goes on in his head," John responded, just as confused. Alice nodded and sighed.

 As soon as Alice closed the front door to 221 Baker St, a young woman, whom Alice recognized, approached them. "John? Alice?"

"Yeah?" John responded. He sighed when he saw a black car pull up beside them. "You know, Mycroft could have just phoned us if he didn't have this bloody stupid power complex," John told the woman as he and Alice slipped into the car. Alice couldn't help but giggle when she saw them arriving at the empty Battersea Power Station. 

"Couldn't we just go to a cafe?" John asked as the two were led throughout the building. "Sherlock doesn't follow us everywhere,"

"Through there," The woman said, gesturing to an opening. 

"Thanks, Kate," Alice whispered to the woman as she followed John.

"He's writing sad music; doesn't eat; barely talks- and only to correct the telly," John walked further into the room. "I'd say he was heartbroken but he's Sherlock. He does that all anyway,"

"Hello, Doctor Watson," Irene said, walking out of the shadows. "Miss. Whitmer,"

John stared at Irene in shock. "Tell him you're alive," he said slowly. Alice walked closer to him in case he needed some support.

Irene shook her head. "he'd come after me,"

Alice scoffed. "I'll come after you if you don't," she said with a hint of anger.

"You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you," John continued, trying to comprehend how Irene was standing in front of him.

"DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep," Irene explained.

"Oh and I bet you knew exactly what the record-keeper likes," Alice said, her anger coming out more and more.

"Look, I made a mistake, I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and I need it back," Irene said, raising her hands in defense. "And I need your help,"

"No," John responded. "We're not going to help you,"

"It's for his safety,"

"Tell him your alive,"

"I can't,"

"Fine, I'll tell him and neither of us still won't help you," Alice said, grabbing John's wrist, walking away.

"What do I say?"

"What do you normally say!?" Alice yelled. John jumped back, it was rare for Alice to lose her composure. "You've texted him quite a lot," Alice said softer.

"Just the usual stuff," Irene said as she took out a phone.

Alice let out a sarcastic laugh. "There is no 'usual', with you or him,"

Irene began to read off the messages she had sent him over the past months. 

"You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?" John questioned.

"At him," Irene corrected "He never replies,"

"Sherlock always replies," Alice explained "He responds to everything. That man will outlive God trying to have the last word,"

"Does that make me special?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

"Are you jealous?" Irene asked, still looking at her phone.

"Sherlock and I aren't a couple," 

"Well, you two are something. There," Irene held up her phone to show the screen. "I'm not dead. Let's have dinner,"

From the distance, the group heard the familiar text alert. Alice's eyes widened and John ran after Sherlock. Alice was about to follow him but Irene grasped her wrist. "I don't think so, do you?"

Alice twisted her wrist out of Irene's hold. "I personally don't give a damn about what you think," Alice sneered as she walked out of the room.

*

Alice arrived at Baker Street to find a sign on the front door.

CRIME IN PROGRESS

PLEASE DISTURB

Alice rushed upstairs and into the living room. Alice stopped at the sight of Matthew Nielson. He was bound and gagged to a chair near the fireplace. Sherlock, who was staring at the CIA agent from a chair, aimed a pistol of Nielson with one hand and held his phone to his ear with the other. Mrs. Hudson sat on the sofa and was being comforted by John. 

"What did I miss?" Alice asked, taking in the scene before her.

"Mrs. Hudson's been attacked. I'm restoring balance to the universe," Sherlock answered.

Alice rushed over to the sofa. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, what did he do to you?" 

"Oh, I'm just being so silly," Mrs. Hudson covered her face with her hands.

"John," Alice said, grabbing the attention of the war doctor. "Please take her downstairs. I don't want her to see what I'm about to do," 

John nodded, sensing the anger and determination in Alice's voice. John helped Mrs. Hudson to her feet and lead her downstairs to her flat. 

"Lestrade," Sherlock said into his phone. "We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers,"

"Sherlock," Alice said, staring at the bound CIA agent. "Make sure he also sends an Ambulance,"

Sherlock nodded and relayed Alice's message before handing her his phone. "He wants to know what happened."

"Greg?" Alice said into the phone "Oh yeah, I'm fine. It's actually the burglar, he's badly injured," Matt looked at Alice nervously. He had seen her wrath before and the fact that it was now directed at him wasn't calming. "Just a few broken ribs, a fractured skull, and I think a punctured lung. Granted, I'm no expert. How? He fell out the window," Alice gave a sinister smile as she tossed Sherlock his phone.

Downstairs, John and Mrs.Hudson stood by the sink in her kitchen. John was gently applying antiseptic to the cut on her cheek when they saw a shape plummeting past the window with a loud crash.

"Oh, that was right on my bins," Mrs. Hudson said, giving a worried look to John.

*

After Neilson was collected by the ambulance, Sherlock entered 221A. Mrs. Hudson sat at her small kitchen table, surrounded by John and Alice. "She should take some time away from Baker Street," John said. "She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders,"

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock commented, biting into a mince pie he found in the fridge.

"She's in shock for God's sake. All this over some bloody camera phone. Where is it anyway?"

"Safest place I know," Sherlock said, looking down at Mrs.Hudson who pulled the phone out of her bra.

"You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot," Mrs. Hudson laughed. "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry,"

Sherlock tossed the phone into the air before putting it in his pocket. "Shame on you John Watson. Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street?" Sherlock put a protective arm around the trio's landlady. "England would fall,"

Alice smiled at the scene in front of her. It was nice to have a familial moment amidst the craziness in their lives.

Chapter Text

John arrived in 221b with groceries in hand only to meet Sherlock walking out of his bedroom with a concerned look on his face.

"We have a client," Sherlock said to John.

"What, in your bedroom?" John followed Sherlock into his room. "Oh," 

Irene Adler was fast asleep in Sherlock's bed.

"Should we call Alice?" John asked, looking at his friend.

*

Irene sat in Sherlock's chair, freshly showered and wearing one of Alice's dressing gowns. Alice sat in John's chair while John sat at the table and Sherlock in the chair designated for their clients.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock asked Irene. Alice rolled her eyes at Sherlock's initial question; she had expected more from the detective.

"Killers," Irene replied, showing no emotion.

"You know it would help us if you were more specific," John remarked, his arms crossed over his chest.

"So you faked your death to get ahead of them," Alice concluded, "But you let john and me know that you were alive, and therefore Sherlock,"

"I knew you'd keep my secret," Irene said, giving a flirtatious look at Sherlock. "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here," John said "We're not stupid," His statement was ignored as Sherlock pulled out the phone from his jacket.

"So, what do you keep on here, in general?" Sherlock asked as he closely observed the camera phone.

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful," Irene said nonchalantly.

"For blackmail?" John asked.

"For protection," Irene corrected, "I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So blackmail," Alice confirmed. "Let me guess, you've acquired something that's more danger than protection. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I don't understand it,"

"Show me," Sherlock instructed. "The passcode?"

Irene took the phone from Sherlock's hand and typed in her passcode. "It's not working,"

Sherlock took the phone from her, smiling. "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers 1058," He walked over to his chair and removed the real phone from under the cushion. "I assumed you'd chose something more specific than that but, um, thanks anyways," He smiled at Irene smugly and typed 1058 into the passcode box. His smile faded when the phone buzzed warningly. 

"I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand," Irene said, smiling at Sherlock's failed attempt.

"You're rather good,"

"You're not so bad yourself,"

John and Alice looked at each other, then at the scene in front of them, then back at each other. You could have cut the sexual tension with a knife. "Hamish," John said abruptly, "John Hamish Watson- in case you were looking for baby names,"

Alice looked at him and smiled before turning her attention back to Irene with a straight face. "So whose fantasy did you fulfill in order to get that information?"

"A Ministry of Defense official," Irene said, showing the now unlocked phone to Alice. "I knew what he liked. He loved to show off. Told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know I photographed it,"

007 Confirmed Allocation

4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K

"It's a bit small on that screen," Irene handed the phone to Sherlock, "Can you read it?"

Sherlock took the phone and sat at the table across from John and looked at the phone screen. "Yes,"

"Code, obviously," Irene said, walking over to Sherlock. "I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it. Couldn't figure it out. Though, he was mostly upside down," She leaned over Sherlock's shoulder. "What can you do, Mr. Holmes? Go on," Irene glanced over to Alice, who was still sitting in John's chair. She smiled when she noticed that Sherlock kept glancing over at Alice who was quickly typing on her phone. "Impress the girl," Irene whispered into his ear.

Sherlock looked up from the phone and over at Alice then back down at the phone. "Impress the girl." Immediately, patterns in the code began to form and become more obvious. He was so focused on solving the code that he didn't notice Irene kissing him on the cheek.

"There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at 6:30 in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently, it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds," Sherlock said rapidly.

"Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet, look," Sherlock continued as he showed the screen to John. "There is no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'; no letters past 'K', the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place; families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo jet is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past 55, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row 13, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines, Then there's the style of the flight number, zero-zero-seven, that eliminates a few more. Assuming British point of origin, which would be logical considering the source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately, that the crisis is imminent. The only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the 6:30 to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport,"

Sherlock looked up from the phone, realising that he was now standing. He looked around the room; Irene and John looked amazed at his talent, Alice stared at him in horror. Sherlock was confused by her expression but chose to ignore it. "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available in the English Language,"

"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice,"

"John, please check those flight schedules; see if I'm right,"

"Uh-huh. I'm on it," John cleared his throat and began to type on his laptop. "Yeah, you're right. Flight double-oh-seven,"

"What did you just say?" Sherlock asked, turning his attention back on John.

"Flight double-oh-seven,"

As Sherlock began to pace, Alice noticed Irene typing on her phone behind her back.

Alice knew what the code was referring to, she had solved it just as fast as Sherlock did. "Bond Air is go, check with the Coventry lot," she remembered Mycroft saying. She had made fun of him for the name, but now it all made sense. Sherlock had destroyed months' worth of planning just to impress Irene Adler. Her phone buzzed and she knew who it was.

Please come immediately.

-M

Alice found Mycroft in his sitting room with his face buried in his hands. A glass of brandy sat half full beside him. 

"Mycroft now is not the time to be drinking," Alice scolded as she sat down across from him. He sat up and handed her his phone. On the screen was a text message from Moriarty.

Jumbo Jet. Dear me, Mr. Holmes, dear me.

"Fucking hell," Alice said under her breath. "Sherlock you idiot,"

"What do you suggest we do?"

"What can we do?"

*

Sherlock sat in his chair gently, plucking the strings of his violin. "Coventry," he said aloud, finally realizing where he had heard the double-zero. "Where's John?"

"He went out an hour ago," Irene answered as she watched him closely. She was still wearing Alice's dressing gown and was curled up in John's chair.

"Oh, and Alice?"

"She left hours ago. What's Coventry got to do with anything??"

"It's a story, though probably not true. In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken code, so they let it happen anyway,"

"Have you ever had anyone?" Irene asked, changing the subject.

Sherlock frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"When I said 'had', I'm being indelicate,"

"I don't understand,"

"I see how you look at Alice; your attraction to her," Irene got up from her seat and kneeled in front of Sherlock, putting her left hand on top of his right hand. "But, I'll be delicate. Mr. Holmes, if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"

Sherlock lightly curled his fingers against her wrist. Before he could respond, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room with a government official. Irene instantly sat back in John's chair as if nothing had happened between her and Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at the government official standing next to Mrs. Hudson. It was the same one who escorted him the Buckingham Palace. "Have you come to take me away again?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes,"

"Well, I decline,"

"I don't think you do, sir," The government official handed Sherlock an envelope.

Sherlock opened the envelope to find a plane ticket in his name for flight 007 to Baltimore, scheduled for 18:30.

Chapter Text

Sherlock sat in the back of the black car on his way to Heathrow Airport. "There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet," He began to deduce, "The British and American governments know about it. But rather than expose the source of that information, they're going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new,"

The car passed hangars and arrived at a 747 Jumbo Jet parked on the tarmac. Sherlock got out of the car and walked over to the steps, only to see a familiar face.

"Well, you're lookin' all better," Sherlock said to Agent Neilson in an insultingly fake American accent. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like putting a bullet in your brain, sir," Neilson responded as Sherlock walked up the steps. "They'd pin a medal on me if I did, sir. But I won't. Ally seems to trust you, she even threw me out a window because my men hurt your landlady. Besides, I don't want to get on her bad side. She may be small but she is powerful,"

"Yes, well, Alice is full of surprises," Sherlock said, not turning back to face the American. 

Sherlock pulled back the curtain and walked into the aisle. The plane was full but none of the passengers were talking or moving. Upon closer inspection, he realized that every passenger on the plane was dead.

"The Coventry conundrum," Mycroft said, pushing back the curtain at the front of the cabin. "What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead,"

"The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundred of casualties, but nobody dies," Sherlock said, putting the pieces together.

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight. But that's the deceased for you. Late, in every sense of the word,"

"How's the plane going to fly?" Sherlock asked, only to answer his question a second later. "Of course: unmanned aircraft, hardly new,"

"It doesn't fly; it will never fly. This entire project is canceled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email and months and years of planning finished,"

"Your MoD man,"

"That's all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special,"

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow. "Hmm, you should screen your defense people more carefully,"

"I'm not talking about the MoD man, Sherlock!" Mycroft yelled, slamming the tip of his umbrella on the floor. "I'm talking about you!" Alice entered the cabin from the same entrance as Mycroft. "A damsel in distress,"

"Alice, what are you..." Sherlock began to ask while a million questions began to enter his mind.

"In the end," Mycroft continued as Alice stood beside him. She was dressed professionally and stood as if her proper place in the world was by Mycroft's side. "Must you really be so obvious? Because this was textbook. The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle and watch him dance."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock argued.

"How quickly did you decipher that email?" Mycroft asked, "Was it a full minute, or were you eager to impress?"

"I think it was less than five seconds," Irene said from behind Sherlock. She wore an elegant dress with her makeup and hair perfectly done.

Alice turned to Mycroft, his expression was full of regret. "I drove you into her path," Mycroft said. "I'm sorry, I didn't know,"

Irene walked towards Sherlock, who was still staring at her. "Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk,"

"So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on,"

"Not you, Junior. You're done now," Irene said as she walked past Sherlock towards Mycroft. "There's more; loads more," she continued, activating her phone and showing it to Mycroft. "On this phone, I've got secrets, pictures, and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause, and there's exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother,"

*

Alice and Mycroft sat at a large table across from Irene in Mycroft's home. Sherlock sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace a few feet away.

"We have people who can get into this," Mycroft said, referring to Irene's camera phone, which sat on the table. 

"I tested that theory for you," Irene said with a straight face, "I let Sherlock Holmes try for a month. Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone,"

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing," Sherlock said from his seat on the couch. "I suspect containing acid or small explosives. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive,"

"Explosives," Irene smiled. "It's more me,"

"Some data is always recoverable," Mycroft tried to reason

"Are you willing to take that risk?" Irene taunted.

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you,"

"Why not let Alice take this one. After all, she is very advanced in cybersecurity," Irene said calmly. 

"There are two passcodes," Alice said confidently. "One to unlock the phone and one to burn the drive. Even under duress, you won't know which one she's given you. There's no point in a second attempt,"

Irene smiled. "She's good, isn't she? I should put her on a leash- in fact, I might,"

Sherlock and Alice both grimaced at Irene's statement.

"We destroy this, then." Mycroft suggested "Then no one will have the information,"

"Fine," Irene said, leaning back into her chair. "Good idea... unless there are lives of Britsh Citizens depending on the information you're about to burn,"

"Are there?"

"Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore," Irene reached into her purse and took out an envelope. "A list of my requests and some ideas about my protection one they're granted," She handed Mycroft the envelope. 

Mycroft unfolded the sheet of paper inside and raised his eyebrows. 

"I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of a nation, but then, I'd be lying," Irene continued. "I imagine you'd like to sleep on it,"

"Thank you, yes," 

"Too bad, off you pop and talk to people,"

Mycroft sank back into his chair. "You've been very thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you,"

"I can't take all the credit, I had a bit of help," Irene looked across to Sherlock, "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love,"

Sherlock raised his head and turned towards the group.

"Yes, he's been in touch," Mycroft said.

"I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys," Irene said, walking around the table to sit on the table beside Alice and Mycroft. "D'you know what he calls you? The Iceman, The Virgin, and of course, Princess," She said, looking directly at Alice.

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees, nicely played," Alice complimented.

"No," Sherlock said, standing up and walking towards Irene. "You got carried away, you enjoy yourself too much,"

"There is no such thing as too much," Irene said, smugly.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game," Sherlock said, looking down at Irene. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side,"

Irene let out a laugh. "Oh dear God, look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the detective in the funny hat?"

"No," Sherlock said, stepping closer to Irene, their bodies almost touching. "Because I took your pulse. I imagine most people think love is a mystery to me" He glanced at Alice before turning back to Irene."But its chemistry is very simple. When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe- your measurements; but this is far more intimate. This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number but you just couldn't resist it, could you?"

Irene's breath became heavier.

"I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof. You see this as a game, and sadly, you lost," Sherlock typed the passcode and showed her the screen.

I AM

S-H-E-R

LOCKED

Irene looked down at the screen, tears streaming down from her eyes.

Sherlock handed the phone to Mycroft, his eyes were still fixed on Irene. "There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight. If you are feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise, let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection,"

Irene stared at him, her eyes filled with dread. "Are you expecting me to beg?" She asked

"Yes," Alice said, getting up from her seat at the table and looking straight at Irene.

Irene looked down at the floor. "You're right, I won't even last six months," She turned to Alice. "Please, Miss. Whitmer, please change their minds,"

Alice scoffed. "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Because of you, a friend of mine died. Because of you, my landlady was attacked. You have caused nothing but trouble even before we met," Her eyes were full of fire. This was a side of Alice that neither Sherlock nor Mycroft had ever seen before. Sherlock got a glimpse when Alice threw Agent Neilson out of a window, but this was shocking for him. The young woman he had grown fond of stood there like a judge ordering a life sentence to a convict. She sighed and turned to Mycroft. "However, it was her phone call that saved our lives at the pool. I hope you take that into consideration when deciding her fate,"

Irene looked back up and into Alice's eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. 

"Think of this as me returning the favor," Alice replied. "I should take my leave now," She said, grabbing her handbag from the chair beside her. "Mycroft, I trust that the car is out front?" Alice nodded towards the elder Holmes. "

"As always, Alice. And thank you for your assistance," Mycroft said, the curves of his mouth turned upwards as he gave Alice a slight smile.

"Thank you," Alice left the room with Sherlock following shortly after her.

Chapter Text

Alice sat at the piano in her living room. It was one of her first major purchases when she officially moved to London. Mycroft had pulled some strings and was able to get her a baby grand piano from Steinway & Sons. Her fingers graced the keys as she played 'Divenire' by Ludovico Einaudi. Her emotions poured out with every note. She sighed as the final note resonated throughout the room.

"When were you going to tell me that you played the piano?" Sherlock said from the doorway.

Alice turned around to face him and smiled. "I figured you knew. Care to sit?"

Sherlock sat down on her sofa. "So, how fast did you figure out the airline ticket?"

"About the same time as you. Irene knew what she was doing; I'll give her that," Alice shrugged and stood up to close the lid of her piano. 

"Do you want to go to dinner?" Sherlock asked, looking straight at Alice.

"What?" She asked, almost slamming the lid.

"Would you like to have dinner with me, just the two of us?"

Alice looked at him in shock, not knowing exactly what to say.

"Did I do it wrong?" Sherlock asked, walking closer to Alice. "John?" John? I think I did it wrong!" He yelled in hopes his flatmate would hear.

"Sherlock," Alice said, walking up to him and placing her hands on his arms. "I would love to go to dinner with you. Give me twenty minutes and we can head out,"

Sherlock paced in the living room of 221b. "Was I to forward John? She seemed shocked. I know she's smarter than me, but..."

John sat in his chair, watching his best friend get flustered over a girl. "Sherlock, don't worry. You like her, she likes you, it will be all right," John had contemplated calling Mycroft and Lestrade so the three could spy on the two geniuses. 

"Sorry I took so long," Alice said as she knocked on the door. Alice wore a navy a-line dress; her makeup was natural, yet alluring; Alice's dark black hair was curled and rested halfway down her back. Both men stood in awe of the woman in front of them. "I'm not overdressed, am I? Mrs. Hudson helped," She nervously adjust her dress.

"You look wonderful, Alice," John said, "Doesn't she, Sherlock?"

"You look stunning," Sherlock confirmed.

Alice blushed and gave a slight curtsey. "Thank you, boys," she smiled.

John felt like a proud parent as Sherlock and Alice left for their date. As soon as they were out of sight, John phoned Lestrade.

"John? Is everything alright?" Lestrade's worried voice asked when he answered the call.

"Everything's fine. I thought you should know that Sherlock's going on a date right now," 

"What! With Who? Where? How?" Lestrade exclaimed.

John laughed at Lestrade's reaction. "I have to make another call, but can you meet me here at Baker Street in five minutes?"

*

Sherlock and Alice sat at a small table in The Landmark Hotel's dining room. 

Alice sipped her wine and smiled. "John and Lestrade; upper level; two o'clock," She said, looking straight ahead. "I wonder how they managed to do that,"

"Mycroft, no doubt," Sherlock said, looking in that direction from the corner of his eye. "John must've alerted him about our date,"

"So this is a date, I hoped it would be," Alice smiled at the detective in front of her.

"Alice," Sherlock began as he pulled out a small velvet box from his jacket. "I forgot to give you this on Christmas,"

"Sherlock, you didn't have to give me anything," Alice said as she opened the box. Inside was a delicate sapphire necklace. "It's beautiful, thank you," 

Sherlock took her hand in his and squeezed it. "I want you to know that I will always be there for you,"

John and Lestrade looked at the two geniuses from above.

"He's holding her hand!" Lestrade exclaimed as he took a photo on his phone. Lestrade was enjoying their spy mission too much. "I can't believe that they finally got together,"

"They were made for each other alright," John joked. "He even admitted that she was smarter than him earlier,"

"That's true love right there,"

*

Alice and Sherlock arrived back at 221 Baker Street hand in hand. "Goodnight, Sherlock, I had a wonderful time," Alice stood up on her tiptoes and kissed Sherlock on the cheek before retreating to her flat. "We should do it again sometime,"

Alone in his living room, Sherlock placed his hand to his cheek, touching the exact spot that Alice had kissed. He couldn't help but smile and blush. Irene Adler was intriguing, yes, but Alice was intoxicating. How had he not seen it before? 

Chapter Text

"Well, that was tedious," Sherlock said as he entered 221b. His arms, face, and shirt were covered with blood as well as the harpoon by his side.

"You went on the tube like that?" John asked, surprised.

"None of the cabs would take me," Sherlock said, irritated.

"I'm debating on whether or not Alice should know about this," John muttered as Sherlock walked towards the shower. Alice had left for the United States a week prior, for her sister's wedding.

*

Sherlock, who was now clean and freshly dressed, paced rapidly in the living room with the harpoon in his hand. John sat in his chair, flipping through the newspapers.

"Nothing?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Military coup in Uganda. Huh, there's another photo of you with the hat," John said, reaching for another newspaper. "Cabinet reshuffle,"

"Nothing of importance? Oh, God!" Sherlock slammed the end of his harpoon onto the floor. He turned and stared intensely at John. "John, I need some. Get me some,"

"No," John pointed his finger sternly at Sherlock. "Cold turkey, we agreed. Besides, Alice paid everyone off before she left. No one within Central London will sell you any,"

"Whose idea was that?" Sherlock asked bitterly. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now," John encouraged as Sherlock hurled papers off the table.

"Tell me where they are. Please, tell me," 

"Can't help, sorry,"

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers,"

John laughed, "Not even Alice could figure those out,"

"Oh, it was worth a try,"

"Ooh-ooh," Mrs. Hudson knocked

Sherlock continued to rummage through the papers in front of the fireplace. "What have you done with my secret supply?"

"Eh?"

"Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You never let me touch your things!" Mrs. Hudson said as she looked around the messy flat. "How about a nice cuppa and perhaps you could put away your harpoon,"

"I need something stronger than tea," Sherlock stared out the window then turned back towards Mrs. Hudson and aimed his harpoon at her. "You've been seeing Mr. Chatterjee again,"

"Pardon?"

"That's a new dress," Sherlock pointed with his harpoon, "There's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking. I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about,"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't," Mrs. Hudson said as she stormed out of the flat, upset.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" John asked as he slammed the newspaper down. "Go after her and apologize,"

"Oh John, I envy you so much," Sherlock said, sighing.

"You envy me?" John asked, almost immediately regretted taking the bait.

"Your mind is so placid and straightforward. Mine is like an engine, racing out of control. I need a case!" Sherlock yelled, sitting down in his chair.

"You've just solved one!" John yelled back. "By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!"

"But that was this morning! When's the next one?" Sherlock began drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair while simultaneously stomping his feet on the floor.

"Nothing on the website?" John asked.

Sherlock got up from his chair and walked over to the table. He grabbed his laptop and handed it to John. "Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes," He started to narrate the message on his website in a little girl's voice. "I can't find bluebell anywhere, please please please can you help?"

"Bluebell?"

"A rabbit, John!" Sherlock said, returning to his normal voice. "Oh but there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous, 'like a fairy' according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of forced entry..." Sherlock stopped and his expression became more serious. "What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade, tell him there's an escaped rabbit,"

"Are you serious?"

"It's this or Cluedo,"

"No," John said as he closed the laptop. "We are never playing that again!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's not possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock,"

"It was the only possible solution,"

"It's not in the rules,"

"Then the rules are wrong!"

Before John could argue back, the doorbell rang.

"Single ring," John observed.

"Maximum pressure just under the half-second," Sherlock continued.

"Client," The two said simultaneously.

Henry Knight sat before the two men, nervously holding a paper napkin to his nose. "Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?"

"No,"

"It's an amazing place: bleak, but beautiful,"

"Yes, good, let's skip to the night your father was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's attitude. He wanted to take a page out of Alice's book and lightly slap Sherlock on the back of his head.

"There's this place, it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow," Henry continued "That's an ancient name for the Devil,"

"Did you see the Devil that night?" John asked as he jotted everything down in his notebook.

"Yes. It was huge. Coal-black fur with red eyes," Henry looked into the distance. "It got to him, tore him apart. U can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor," he looked down and stared at the floor. "They never found my dad's body,"

"Henry, whatever happened to your father was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?" John asked.

"It's because of what happened last night," Sherlock observed. "You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You are obviously extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. So, sit down, Mr. Knight, and please smoke. I'd be delighted,"

Henry did as he was told. As he exhaled his first drag, Sherlock leaned in and breathed in deeply.

"What happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow Last night?" Sherlock asked, now in a better mood. "You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?"

"It's a strange place, the Hollow. It makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid,"

"Yes, and if I wanted poetry, I'd read one of John's emails to his girlfriend. What did you see?"

"Footprints- on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart," Henry said nervously.

"Is that it? Nothing else?"

"Yes, but they were..."

"No, sorry, your therapist wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory, Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Thank you for smoking,"

"No, but what about the footprints?"

"Oh they're probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing," Sherlock gestured Henry towards the door. "Off to Devon with you,"

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound,"

Sherlocked stopped in his place. "Say that again, those exact words,"

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound,"

"I'll take the case. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It's very promising,"

"What?" John asked confused. "A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they're promising?"

"Weren't you listening, John? Baskerville: ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely,"

"Sounds like a good place to start. You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later," Sherlock said as he showed the young man out the door.

"So we are going, then?" John asked.

"A twenty-year-old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood at the top of a large rock formation while John stood at the foot, consulting a map.

"There's Baskerville," John said, pointing at a large set of buildings in front of them. "Grimpen Village," he pointed behind them. "So, that must be Dewer's Hollow," He said, pointing to the wooded area to the left of Baskerville.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked as he pointed to a fenced area with warning signs.

"Minefield. Technically Baskerville's an army base. I guess they've always been keen to keep people out,"

"Clearly," Sherlock said as he looked at Baskerville through his binocular.

Sherlock and John entered the Cross Keys Inn, one of the only bed and breakfasts in the Grimpen Village.

"Sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys," Gary, one of the innkeepers, said as he handed John some keys. Sherlock milled around the large public room.

"That's fine, we're not..." John gave up trying to explain the relationship between him and Sherlock after seeing Gary's face. As Gary walked over to the til, John noticed a receipt from 'Undershaw Meat Supplies". He ripped the receipt from the spike and shoved it into his pocket as Gary came back with John's change.

"There you go," Gary said, handing John his change.

"I couldn't help but notice the map of the moor: a skull and crossbones. Pirates?"

"No, no, The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it. It's not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for 80 odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore,"

"Explosives?" John asked.

"Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and, if you're lucky, you just get blown up,"

"Ta, I'll remember,"

"It buggers up tourism a bit. Thank God for the demon hound. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell,"

"Ever seen it? The hound?"

"Me? No. Fletcher has," Gary pointed out the door to a young man talking on his phone. "He runs the walks- the monster walks for the tourists. He's seen it,"  Sherlock looked out at the young man and walked outside to join him.

"Mind if I join you?" Sherlock asked Fletcher, who had just sat down at a table.

Fletcher shrugged and gestured to the table.

"It's not true, is it?" Sherlock asked as he sat down at the table, across from Fletcher. "You haven't seen this hound thing,"

Fletcher eyed him suspiciously. "You from the papers?"

"No, nothing like that. Just curious, have you seen it?"

"Maybe,"

"Got any proof?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"Sorry, John," Sherlock said to John, who had just walked out to the table. "Bet's off,"

"Bet?" Fletcher asked, intrigued.

"Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove that you've seen the hound"

"Yeah," John added, catching onto Sherlock's plan. "The guys in the pub said you could,"

Fletcher let out a light laugh. "Well, you're gonna lose your money mate. Yeah, I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, I couldn't make much out,"

"I see, no witnesses I suppose," Sherlock said, unconvinced.

Fletcher handed Sherlock his phone which showed a picture of a dark-furred four-legged animal. The photograph's quality was poor and it was impossible to tell the size of the creature. "There,"

Sherlock snorted in amusement. "That's it? it isn't really proof. Sorry, John, I win,"

"That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know? The Hollow gives them a bad feeling,"

"Ooh, is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there- something from Baskerville,"

"A clone, a super dog?" Sherlock snickered.

"Maybe," Fletcher raised his hands in defense. "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could spit. In the labs, they say, that there are rats as big as dogs and dogs the size of horses," Fletcher proceeded to hold up a concrete cast of a large paw print.

"We did say fifty," John said, holding out his hand for Sherlock's money. Fletcher smiled triumphantly as Sherlock handed John the money.

Chapter Text

Sherlock and John arrived at Baskerville in large Land Rover Jeep. Military personnel surrounded the place. As Sherlock pulled up to the entrance, a security guard walked around to the driver's window.

"Pass, please," 

Sherlock reached into his pocket and handed the guard a pass. The guard swiped the pass through the reader and the gates opened.

"Thank you, sir," The guard said as he handed Sherlock back his pass.

"You've got an ID for Baskerville, how?" John asked as Sherlock eased the car forward.

"It's not specific to this place. It's my brother's. I acquired it ages ago, just in case. I told you- he practically is the British government. I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realize something's wrong,"

Sherlock parked the car at the main complex. Another soldier led them through the barriers and towards the entrance to the main building. As they approached the entrance, a young corporal stopped them.

"Are we in trouble?" The corporal asked.

"Are we in trouble, Sir?" Sherlock corrected.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir,"

"You were expecting us?"

"Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons,” The soldier introduced himself “security. Is there something wrong, Sir?"

"Well, I hope not,"

"It's just we don't get inspected here. It just doesn't happen,"

"Ever heard of a spot check?" John asked as he showed Lyons his ID. "Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers,"

"Sir," Lyons saluted "Major Barrymore won't be pleased, Sir, he'll want to see you both,"

"I'm afraid we won't have time for that, we'll need the full tour right away. That's an order, corporal,"

"Yes, Sir,"

Lyons slid his ID through a security checkpoint and waited for Sherlock to do the same. Lyons led them through the laboratory on level -1. The lab was brightly lit, various staff members walked around with face masks.

"How many animals do you keep down here?" Sherlock asked their guide.

"Lots, Sir,"

"Any ever escape?"

"They'd have to know how to use that lift, Sir. We're not breeding them that clever,"

"Unless they have help," Sherlock mumbled as they approached a man wearing a breathing mask.

"Ah," The man said as he took off his mask, "And you are?"

"Sorry, Doctor Frankland. I'm just showing these gentlemen around," Lyons informed the man.

"Ah, new faces. Careful, you don't get stuck here. I only came to fix a tap," Dr. Frankland joked as he headed towards the lift.

"So, what exactly is it that you do here?" John asked as they continued to walk through the lab.

"I thought you'd know, Sir, this being an inspection," Lyons responded, "Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the Common Cold,"

"And weaponry?"

"Of one sort or another, yes,"

"Biological, chemical...?"

"One war ends, another begins. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared,"

The men were led through a checkpoint before entering another lab. A monkey stood on its hind legs with a hand in the air, shrieking. 

"Okay, Michael," The female scientist conducting the research said to her colleague, "Let's try Harlow-Three next time," 

"Doctor Stapleton," Lyons said as they approached her.

"Stapleton," Sherlock muttered thoughtfully.

"Yes?" Doctor Stapleton turned around and looked at John and Sherlock. "Who's this?"

"Priority Ultra, ma'am. Orders from on high. An inspection," Lyons answered.

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton," Sherlock said, "What's your role at Baskerville?"

"I'm not free to say. Official secrets," Stapleton laughed in disbelief.

"Oh, you certainly are free," Sherlock said with an ominous tone.

"I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up- genes mostly,"

"Stapleton, I knew I knew your name," Sherlock said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his notebook. "People say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead,"

Sherlock held up his notebook for her to see. On the page was a single word:

BLUEBELL

"Have you been talking to my daughter?" Stapleton asked worriedly.

"Why did bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton? Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which always suggests an inside job,"

"Oh, you reckon?"

"Why? Because it glowed in the dark?" Sherlock then turned to Lyons. "Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much,"

"That's it?" Lyons asked, surprised.

Sherlock headed briskly back towards the door. John quickly following him with Corporal Lyons trailing behind. "It's this way, isn't it?"

"Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?" John angrily whispered to his friend.

Sherlock swiped his card at a security checkpoint and waited for Lyons to do the same. He took out his phone and laughed at the message from Mycroft.

What are you doing?

-M

"Ha! Mycroft's getting slow," Sherlock said as they reached the lift. The doors opened revealing Doctor Frankland.

"Ah, hello again," Frankland said nonchalantly.

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously before walking into the lift with the others. The doors opened one floor up to the angry face of a uniformed man.

"Um, Major," Corporal Lyons greeted.

"This is bloody outrageous." the man seethed, "Why wasn't I told?"

"Major Barrymore, is it?" John asked as he stepped out of the lift. "We're very impressed, aren't we, Mr. Holmes?"

"Deeply; hugely," Sherlock mumbled as he walked past Barrymore, looking at his phone.

What's going on

Sherlock?

-M

Major Barrymore trailed behind the boys as Sherlock hurried towards the exit. "The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense,"

"New Policy. Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you'd get up to," Sherlock said before ushering John to keep walking.

"Sir!" Lyons said as he slapped an alarm button. Alarms started to ring, red lights flash, and the security door locked itself. "ID unauthorized, sir. I've just had the call,"

"Is that right?" Barrymore asked as he took Sherlock's ID "Clearly not Mycroft Holmes. What the Hell's going on!"

"It's all right Major," Doctor Frankland said as he walked towards the group. "I know exactly who these gentlemen are. I'm getting a little slow on faces but Mr. Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place,"

"Ah, well," Sherlock nervously stammered

"Good to see you again, Mycroft," Frankland said, "I had the honor of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O conference in Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna," Sherlock corrected, slipping into the facade.

"Ah, of course," Frankland turned to Major Barrymore "This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake,"

Barrymore nodded to Lyons, who went to turn off the switch. "On your head be it, Doctor Frankland,"

Sherlock and John followed Doctor Franklin out of the building.

"This is about Henry Knight, Isn't it? I thought so, I never thought he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes! Don't worry, I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though,"

"It wasn't my hat," Sherlock grimaced.

"I love the blog too, Doctor Watson. Is Miss. Alice here as well?"

"No, she's sitting this one out," John explained. He had written a bit about Alice on the blog when documenting 'The Blind Banker' and 'The Great Game', to thank her for her help.

"You know Henry Knight?" Sherlock asked, curious.

"I knew his dad better. Here's my cell number, call if you need help," Frankland said as he handed Sherlock his card.

"I never did ask, what exactly is it that you do here?"

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you. Of course, then I would have to kill you,"

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you. Tell me about Dr. Stapleton,"

"I never speak ill of a colleague,"

"But you'd speak well of one, which you are clearly omitting to do,"

"I do seem to be, don't I?"

"I'll be in touch," Sherlock said, raising the business card.

"Any time,"

Chapter Text

Not long after leaving Baskerville, Sherlock and John arrived at Henry Knight's large home.

Sherlock was busy fixing himself a cup of coffee, putting two sugars cubes into his mug. John only took his coffee with milk. Sherlock made sure to remember that.

"It's a couple of words," Henry said as they gathered in the kitchen. "I keep seeing 'Liberty' and 'in' with one ‘N’, it's just that,”

"Mean anything to you?" John asked Sherlock while Henry put away the milk that was on the counter.

"'Liberty in death', isn't that the expression?" Sherlock said softly.

"What now then?" Henry asked, ready to hear the course of action.

"Sherlock's got a plan," John declared.

"We take you back out onto the moor and see if anything attacks you," 

"What!" John exclaimed "That's not a plan,"

"Listen, if there is a monster out there, there is only one thing to do: find out where it lives," Sherlock looked at Henry and smiled before taking another sip of his coffee.

*

As the night began to fall, Sherlock, John, and Henry made their way towards Dewer's Hollow with flashlights in their hands. Hearing some rustling to his right, John stopped and shined his light in its direction. The other two kept walking as John slowly crept closer and closer to the sound, only to find an owl.

John sighed as he realized that Henry and Sherlock had abandoned him. He shined his light towards the direction he thought they went and found nothing. Sighing, he looked back at the hillside, which now had intermittently flashing lights. Noticing the pattern, he quickly took out a small notebook and pen, writing down the letters he saw flash in front of him in Morse code.

U M Q R A

"Umqra?"

"Met a friend of yours, Dr. Frankland? He seemed concerned about you," Sherlock said to Henry, unaware that John was no longer with them.

"Oh, Bob, yeah. He's a worrier, bless him. He's been very kind to me,"

"He knew your father. But he works at Baskerville. Didn't your dad have a problem with that?"

"Well, mates are mates. They agreed to never talk about work,"

They stopped at a steep drop with a path leading down to a dark and misty valley. 

"Dewer's Hollow, Mr. Holmes," Henry said.

The two started to head down into the hollow. Sherlock shined his torch around and found enormous paw prints all around the area. They were similar to the one Fletcher had shown them the day before. A howl rang out and Henry froze. 

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Did you see it?" Henry asked Sherlock.  Sherlock shook his head, still unable to accept the evidence in front of him.

"Did you hear that?" John asked as the two made their way back to the top of the hollow.

"We saw it," Henry said, still terrified.

"I didn't see anything," Sherlock stated as has hurried onwards.

*

John and Henry stood in Henry's home. "He must've seen it. Why would he say that? It-it was there," Henry stammered.

"Henry, I need you to relax," John said, motioning for Henry to sit on the sofa. "Listen, I'm going to give you something to help you sleep,"

"This is good news, John," Henry said as he sat on the couch "I'm not crazy. There is a hound and Sherlock saw it too," 

*

Sherlock sat in an armchair by a roaring open fire. His face was full of shock and confusion. 

"Well, he is totally convinced that there's some mutant super-dog roaming the moors," John said, sitting down in the armchair across from Sherlock. "And there isn't, is there? 'Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super dog, we'd know," John took out his notebook from his pocket. "I saw something, on the moor. It was morse- I guess. U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean anything?"

"I saw it too," Sherlock said, his voice was shaking. "I saw it too, John," His face twisted as if he was ashamed to admit the truth. "A hound, out there in the Hollow,"

"Look, Sherlock, we have to be rational. Let's just stick to what we know. Stick to the facts,"

"Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains -- however improbable-- must be true," Sherlock reached to pick up a drink. His hands were trembling. "Look at me, I'm afraid, John. I have always been able to keep myself distant; divorce myself from feeling. But look, my body's betraying me,"

"Alight, Spock, take it easy. You've been wired lately. I think you've gotten yourself worked up,"

"Worked up? There's nothing wrong with me," Sherlock rebutted.  "I am fine, John. So just leave me alone,"

"Why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend,"

"I don't have friends," Sherlock scoffed.

"Naah, wonder why?" John said sarcastically as he walked out of the inn. 

***

Sherlock stood in Henry's kitchen. He had offered to make Henry a cup of coffee after seeing Henry's awful state when he answered the door that morning.

"Why did you say that you hadn't seen anything?" Henry asked as he watched Sherlock "I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute,"

"Hound," Sherlock said, locking his eyes on Henry. "Why do you call it a hound? It's a strange choice of words,"

"I don't know,"

"Actually, I'd better skip the coffee," Sherlock said as he left Henry's home.

Sherlock walked through the village but stopped when we saw John sitting in the church graveyard. "What happened last night, something happened to me," Sherlock said.

"Yes, you said: Fear. The great Sherlock Holmes got scared,"

Sherlock took hold of John's arm and pulled John around to face him. "It was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubtful. I have always been able to trust my senses, the evidence with my own eyes, until last night,"

"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster,"

"No, I can't believe that. But I did see it, the question is: How?"

John turned and began to walk away again.

"What I said before, I meant it," Sherlock called after him. "I don't have friends,"

John stopped and looked back at Sherlock.

"I've just got one: You,”

"And what about Alice?" John asked. A slight grin appeared on his face.

"She's become something much more," Sherlock replied. “She is a puzzle that I am desperate to solve, a beautiful mystery,”

John patted his friend’s shoulder and walked out of the graveyard, forcing Sherlock to run in order to catch up to him.

Chapter Text

"You are amazing! You are fantastic!" Sherlock yelled as the two walked through Grimpen Village. 

"Yes, all right. There is no need to overdo it," John laughed.

"You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable,"

"What?"

"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others," Sherlock said as he took out his notebook. 

"Hang on, you were just apologizing a second ago. Don't spoil it," John paused, admitting his curiosity. "Go on, what have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?"

By now the two where right outside the pub and inn. Sherlock held up his notebook to John.

HOUND

"What about it?"

"What if it's not a word?" Sherlock took back his notebook and wrote in it again before showing John the page again. "What if it's actually individual letters?"

H.O.U.N.D.

"You think it's an acronym?"

"Absolutely no idea," Sherlock turned towards the pub door and his attitude changed immediately. 

Standing at the bar was a casually  dressed suntanned Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sherlock demanded.

"Nice to see you too! I'm on Holiday, would you believe?" Lestrade asked, happy to have annoyed the consulting detective.

"No, I wouldn't,"

"Hello, John,"

"Greg," John acknowledged.

"I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this 'Hound of Hell' like I saw on the telly?"

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?"

"I told you: I'm on holiday,"

"You're already tan. You've clearly just gotten back from your holiday,"

"Well, I fancied another one," 

"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?"

"No, not exactly..."

"Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to spy on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself 'Greg'?"

"That's his name," John commented, amazed that Sherlock still couldn’t remember Lestrade's first name. 

"Is it?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

"Yes," Lestrade replied. "Look, I'm not your handler and I don't just do what your brother tells me,"

"I invited him," A familiar voice said. Walking towards the group was everyone’s favourite American.

"Alice, what are you..." Sherlock began to say before she cut him off.

"I leave for one week to attend a wedding and you break into a military base?" Alice asked Sherlock. "Imagine my surprise when your brother called me on my cell phone in the early morning to tell me that I was needed back in England immediately and that a plane was coming to get me later that morning!”

"Sorry about that," John added. "I was surprised too,"

Alice rubbed her temples. "And out of all places, you break into Baskerville? What's next? Area 51?"

"Don't give him any ideas, Alice," Lestrade half-joked as he took a sip of his pint of beer. He could see Sherlock breaking into Area 51 if there was a good enough mystery.

Alice took a breath and motioned to Lestrade. "Anyways, I brought Greg since I thought it would be nice to have a scary inspector from Scotland Yard to help out if something odd was going on locally since Mycroft would be the only one who could help us out at Baskerville,"

"Alice you are a genius. I might have found something," John said as he took out the receipt from Undershaw Meat Supplies and showed the group. "An awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant,"

Alice and Lestrade sat at a small table with Gary and Billy, the manager and chef of the inn. The two were going over the inn’s invoices and paperwork. John stood nearby while Sherlock was busy making coffee.

"What's this?" John asked, looking at the cup and saucer that was being handed to him.

"Coffee, I made coffee,"

"You never make coffee,"

"I just did. Don’t you want it?"

"You don’t have to keep apologising,"

"Yes, well, Alice said that I should make myself useful," Sherlock looked at him with the puppy-dog eyes,

John sighed and took the cup and saucer "Thanks,". He grimaced as he took a sip. "Mm, I don't take sugar," Seeing Sherlock’s hurt expression, he took another sip. “That’s nice. It’s good,”

"These records go back nearly two months," Lestrade interrogated Gary and Billy.

"Is that when you had the idea? After the TV special came out?” Alice asked as she wrote down notes in her notebook.

"It was me," Billy admitted guiltily and turned to his partner. "I’m sorry, Gary. I couldn’t help it. I had a bacon sandwich and one thing led to another..."

"Nice try," Lestrade interrupted, calling their bluff.

"Look, we were just trying to give things a little boost. A great big dog running wild upon the moor," Gary said, admitting their guilt. "It was like us having our own Loch Ness Monster,"

"Where do you keep it?" Lestrade questioned.

"There's an old mineshaft, it was alright there,"

"What do you mean 'was'?" Alice asked, not looking up from her writing.

Gary let out a breath. "We couldn't control the bloody thing; it was vicious. A month ago, Billy took him to the vet and they, er... you know,”

"It’s dead?" John asked, walking up to the table.

"Put down," Alice corrected

"It was only meant to be a joke," Billy said quietly.

Alice looked up at the two men sitting in front of her in disappointment. "Yeah, hilarious,"

"You've nearly driven a poor man out of his mind," Lestrade argued. The trio left the pub soon after Lestrade finished his interrogation.

"I’ll have a word with the local Force, but I’m not quite sure what I’d charge them with," Lestrade commented as the group exited pub. “This is nice. It feels great to get London out of your lungs. Catch you later,"

"Do you believe them?" John asked Sherlock as the trio walked towards the car. "That they put down the dog?"

"I have no reason not to,"

"But it wasn't a dog that you saw, that night. It wasn't an ordinary dog,"

Sherlock stopped walking. “No, it was immense with burning red eyes and a glowing body,” He described in a low whisper so that only John could hear before continuing to walk over to Alice who was already waiting by the car. "I have a theory, but I need to test it at Baskerville,"

"Oh, are you going to have to call your brother for help?" Alice smirked as she looked up at Sherlock.

"Sadly, yes," Sherlock said in defeat, dialling Mycroft's phone number. "Hello brother dear, how are you..."

The three arrived at the main entrance to Baskerville. "I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside," Sherlock said as they drove onto the base. "Which means you both will have to search for the hound in the labs,"

"We'll try Stapleton's first," John told him.  

John and Alice entered Dr. Stapleton's lab. The lights were dim and the lab was empty. They were in there alone.

"Do you have another flashlight?" Alice asked as John pulled his out of his pocket. He shook his head and Alice pulled out her phone from her back pocket. 

Alice began to search one side of the laboratory while John looked around the other side.

John swiped Mycroft’s security pass through the reader and entered the room they saw Dr. Frankland come out of the day before. In the room was a desk cluttered with equipment, folders, and other paperwork. The dark sat beside a series of plastic tubes with dials next to them. In the corner of the room were some metal pipes carrying some sort of gas, one of which (unknown to him) was leaking. Seeing nothing of interest, he walked back into the lab. 

John closed the door behind him and accidentally activated some sort of alarm. Suddenly a bright light shined in his face. He closed his eyes for a second and opened them back up finding the lab as darker than when he and Alice first entered. As he walked around, the sound of a deep ominous growl filled the room, snarling. Hearing this, John ran across the room and reached for another door.

"John?" Alice called as she searched for him in the large lab. “John?” She heard the sound of a security checkpoint and a door open and close to her right and simply assumed that he was looking at the other labs connected to the one they started in. Reaching in her jacket pocket, she pulled out a security ID Mycroft had given her and walked towards the doors that she heard open and shut. Swiping her ID, she slowly entered another lab.

John Watson swore he could hear the sound of approaching footsteps and a growl. "It's here, it's here with me," He whispered into his phone. He hid in a large empty cage covered by a sheet and tried not to cry as he heard the creature growl again.

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked from the other line. 

"In the lab, the big lab from before. Sherlock, please!”

"It's all right, I'll find you. What can you see?"

"I don't know, but I can hear it, now,"

The growls returned. 

"Stay calm, can you see it?" 

"Yes, it's here," John said as he saw a shadow move across the other side of the sheeting. "I can see it!"

The sheeting was tugged upwards and the lights come on in the lab at the same time Sherlock's face appeared with Alice beside him.

"Are you all right?" Alice asked, helping John hurry out of the cage.

"It was here, the hound! It was..." John looked around the now lit lab, realizing that there was nowhere the creature could hide. “It must...”

"It’s alright," Sherlock said calmly.

"NO, IT’S NOT!" John hysterically yelled. "I SAW IT!"

"Well, let’s not jump to conclusions,"

"What?"

Sherlock turned to Alice. "What did you see?"

"I didn't see anything," Alice informed the group, ashamed. "I couldn't really sense anything particularly odd either. I thought I heard something in this lab, but that could have just been one of the animals in here," She motioned to the cages.

"And you, John?"

"I told you: I saw the hound," John said, still shaking from his experience.

"Huge with red eyes?"

"Yes,"

"Glowing?"

"Yes,"

"No,"

"No?"

"I made up that bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. Alice saw nothing. We've been drugged,"

Chapter Text

Doctor Stapleton was busy examining a white fluffy bunny in a small room when Sherlock interrupted her work. 

"Oh, back again?" Stapleton asked, looking up from the rabbit in front of her. "What's on your mind this time?"

"Murder, Doctor Stapleton," Sherlock answered firmly. "Refined, cold-blooded murder," He reached back and flicked the light switch, turning out all the lights. On the table behind Stapleton was a glowing rabbit. Seeing all the proof he needed, Sherlock turned the lights back on. "Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?"

Stapleton sighed and put down her clipboard. "Okay, What do you want?"

"Can I borrow your microscope?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" Stapleton asked John as the two of them plus Alice sat a bench while Sherlock sat at another bench in the lab at Baskerville, taking notes as he observed a slide in the microscope. "You just look very peaky,"

"No, I'm alright," John said, lifting his head up to look at her before giving a reassuring nod to Alice.

"It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you're interested,"

"What?"

"In the rabbits," Stapleton clarified. "Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know,"

"Why?" Alice asked, genuinely curious.

"Why not?" Stapleton let out a small sigh. "There was a mix-up, anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go,"

"Your compassion is overwhelming," John commented sardonically.

"I know. I hate myself sometimes," Stapleton mocked back.

“What else do you have hidden in here? With a facility like this, the amount of experiments could be endless,”

”If you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere,”

"It's not there!" Sherlock exclaimed as he tossed the slide at the wall.

"What were you expecting to find," Stapleton asked.

"A drug, of course. A hallucinogenic or deliriant of some kind. But there is no trace of anything in the sugar,"

"Sugar?" John asked.

"The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound- saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: A genetically engineered monster. There were seven possible reasons for it, the plausible being narcotics. Henry Knight saw it too but you didn't, John. You didn't see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk the same things since we arrived except for one thing, you don't take sugar in your coffee," Sherlock looked down at the crushed sugar in a Petri dish. "I took it from Henry's kitchen- his sugar. It's perfectly alright,"

"But the sugar doesn't have the drug. How did it get into our systems?"

Sherlock began to pace for a few seconds befor turning to the group. "Get out, both of you," He said to Doctor Stapleton and John.

"What?" Stapleton asked, confused by the sudden change.

"Get out, I need to go to my Mind Palace. Alice, you can stay," 

John sighed began to explain the memory technique as he ushered Doctor Stapleton out of the room. Alice walked over to stand next to Sherlock with her notebook out.

"Liberty... liberty?" Sherlock mumbled. "What comes to your mind when you hear ‘Liberty’?"

"Liberty bell? Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?"

"What about ‘in’ with one ‘N’?"

"Ingolstadt? I wouldn't put it past them to do some sort of Frankensteinesque monster. This place is a science fiction novel waiting to happen. There's also Indiana. I mean, there is a Liberty, Indiana, but it's a small place," Alice said as she wrote down notes in her notebook.

Sherlock opened his eyes in realization and stood up to kiss Alice on the forehead. "You are brilliant,"

"No shit," Alice commented she and Sherlock went to go collect John and Doctor Stapleton.

The trio along with Doctor Stapleton walked into the control room that had Major Barrymore's office in the corner. 

"Project H.O.U.N.D. It was an experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty Indiana,"

Sherlock stood behind Stapleton as she typed her User ID into a computer. She typed in 'H, O, U, N, D," into the search bar only be met with a No Access message.

"That's as far as my clearance goes, I'm afraid,"

"So there must be an override and password," John stated.

"I imagine so, but that'd be Major Barrymore's," Stapleton explained.

"Describe him to me," Sherlock instructed as he looked around the Major's office.

"He's a martinet, the sort of man they'd have sent into Suez,"

"Good. Old-fashioned traditionalist; not the sort that would use his children's names in a password. He loves his job; proud of it and this is work-related, so what is at eye level?"

"All four volumes of Churchill’s ‘History of the English-Speaking Peoples', a copy of 'The Downing Street Years', and five separate biographies on Margaret Thatcher," Alice listed as she scanned the room.

"Look at this photo," Sherlock instructed, "Mid 1980s, father and son. Distinguished Service Order medal. John?”

"That date? I'd say Falklands veteran," John said from the doorway.

"Thatcher would be more likely than Churchill,"

"So that's the password?" Doctor Stapleton asked as Sherlock headed back towards the computer.

"No, for a man like Major Barrymore, only first names would do,"  Sherlock proceeded to type Maggie into the box. The computer accepted the override code and loaded the information on Project Hound.

Leonard Hansen

       Jack O' Mara 

         Mary Uslowski

     Rick Nader

    Elaine Dyson

H.O.U.N.D.

"Project HOUND," Sherlock read aloud "A deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus,"

"It shut down and was hidden away in 1986 because of what it did to the test subjects and what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them to insanity. It made them uncontrollably aggressive," Alice added as she read the screen. "Aerosol Dispersal," she mumbled to herself.

"So someone's been doing it again, they've been carrying on the experiments?" John asked.

"Attempting to refine it, perhaps for the last twenty years," Sherlock answered, "Any of those names mean anything to you?" He asked Doctor Stapleton.

"No," Stapleton answered.

"Five Principal scientists, twenty years ago," Alice said, as she paced back and forth. "Sherlock, pull up the photograph of the entire team," Sherlock did as he was instructed and allowed Alice to get a better look at everyone involved. "What if the person we're looking for is in the back of the photograph. Someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986,"

"Maybe someone who says 'cellphone' instead of 'mobile'," Sherlock commented, looking over his should at John. 

"I say cellphone," Alice commented, confused.

"Exactly!" Sherlock replied before turning back to John "Doctor Frankland, remember?"

John nodded and looked back at the image in front of them. He noticed everyone's sweatshirts in the photo. They all had the word 'H.O.U.N.D.' in the center and 'Liberty, In' underneath- the three words Henry Knight kept seeing over and over again in his dreams. He was quickly pulled out of his thoughts by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

"It was nice of him to give us his number," Sherlock said, holding up Frankland's card.

"Oh my God. Bob Frankland," Stapleton took a closer look at the photograph. "But Bob's a virologist. This is chemical warfare,"

"It must've been where he started," Alice concluded "He never lost his obsession that this drug could work,"

"Guys, we got to go," John said as he hung up his phone.

"What happened," Sherlock asked.

"That was Doctor Mortimer. Henry attacked her and left with a gun,"

"There's only one place he'd go back to," Sherlock said as he dialed Lestrade, "Lestrade, get to Dewers Hollow, now, and bring your gun,"

Chapter Text

The trio ran towards a distressed Henry Knight at the bottom of Dewer's Hollow. 

"I'm so sorry, Dad," Henry mumbled as he aimed the muzzle of his pistol in his mouth.

"No, Henry, no!" Sherlock shouted as they scrambled across the moor.

"Get back," Henry yelled as he waved his pistol in their direction, "Get away from me,"

"Just put the gun down," Alice pleaded. "It will be okay. Please, trust us,”

"No! I know what I am,"

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry. It's all been explained to you, hasn't it?" Sherlock said reassuringly.

"What?"

"Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung to because you had started to remember," Sherlock began to step closer to the young man. "You've got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy,"

Henry struggled to understand the traumatic event. "I thought it had got my dad- the hound. I don't know anymore!" Henry screamed out loud in distress.

"You'd started to piece things together, remember what really happened here that night. It wasn't an animal. Not a monster, but a man,"

Henry looked up at Sherlock, his eyes widened as the memories flooded in.

"You couldn't cope," Sherlock continued, trying to help Henry come to terms with what had happened the night his father died. "You were just a child, so you rationalized it into something else. Something that made sense at the time,”

John held out his hand encouragingly towards Henry as Lestrade arrived.

"It's okay," Alice  said softly as she took the pistol from Henry's fingers. 

"But we saw it," Henry tried to rationalise. “The other night, we saw it!”

"There was a dog, yes. But it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. There was never really any monster that night or before,"

An anguished howl rang out in the woods, causing everyone to point their lights at the top of the Hollow. A dark creature slinked along the rim of the Hollow and snarled its white teeth at them.

"No!” Henry began to panic. "No, no no, no! It’s the hound!”

"Henry," Sherlock said, slowly walking over to the young man to calm him down. "It's just an ordinary dog,"

"Alice, are you seeing this?" John asked, his flashlight still pointed at the creature. 

"I see something. But I think it’s Gary and Billy’s dog," Alice responded trying to make out the shadowy figure above them.

"Oh, Christ!” Lestrade exclaimed as he saw a pair of glowing red eyes coming towards them. “Alice, turn around!”

Alice looked over her shoulder and saw a human figure approaching them through the mist wearing a breathing mask and a clear visor. She looked down at the ground hoping to find a large stick or something to use for defence when everything began to fit into place in her mind.

"It's not you, you're not here!" Sherlock yelled as he ran towards the figure and headbutted him in the face only to realize that it was Bob Frankland.

"Sherlock!" Alice yelled before covering her face with her shirt. "It's the fog,"

"What?” John questioned. His flashlight still pointing at the dog.

"The drug: it’s in the fog! Aerosol dispersal! Remember, it said so in the records. We're on a chemical minefield,"

The boys instantly threw their arms to their faces to stop themselves from breathing in too much of the drug.

"For God's sake, kill it!" Frankland yelled motioning to the hound that was now making their way towards the group. John and Lestrade both fired their pistols at the creature. Lestrade's three shots missed but John's single bullet struck the hound and threw it backwards, forcing it to cry out in pain. Instantly, John and Alice ran over to look for any movement.

”It’s dead,” Alice announced before stepping back.

"Look at it, Henry," Sherlock instructed as he pushed the young man towards the hound.

In front of them lied a large black dog. Henry stared at it for a few seconds before turning towards Frankland.

"You bastard!" Henry yelled as he attacked the older man onto the ground. "Twenty years! Twenty whole years of my life making no sense! For twenty years I was called a liar and a maniac! Why didn't you just kill me?"

"Dead men get listened to. There had to be some sort of reason why people would take this seriously," Alice explained as the boys pulled Henry off of Doctor Frankland. "He had to discredit everything you ever said about your dad. And he had the means right as his feet. A chemical minefield," Alice gestured to the forest floor.  "There are pressure pads in the ground. Every time you’d come back, you’d be drugged more and more,”

"A murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once. Oh it’s like Christmas!" Sherlock cheered as he joyfully spun around in a circle. "Thank you, Henry, this has been absolutely wonderful," Sherlock laughed.

"Sherlock!" "Timing," John and Alice chastised at the same time.

"No, it's okay," Henry said, as Alice helped him to his feet. “It's fine because this means that my dad was right. He found something out, didn't he? And that's why you killed him,” Henry accused Frankland.  “He realised that you were behind all of this,” 

Seeing this as an opportunity, Doctor Frankland fled from the scene. The group proceeded to chase after him all the way to the barbed wire fence that surrounded Baskerville’s minefield. Frankland jumped over the fence and ran a few more yards only to accidentally activate a landmine. Understanding his fate, Frankland lifted his foot. The group skidded to a halt and ducked down, Sherlock covering Alice with his body as a large explosion ripped into the air. As the blast died down, Alice looked over at John who stared at the minefield in front of them, his face calm as ever.

***

Alice and John sat across from each other at one of the outdoor tables, eating their breakfasts.

"I saw you," Alice spoke up.

"What do you mean?" John asked, taking a bite of food.

"Last night. I know that Mycroft and Sherlock believe you miss the war and the battlefield. But do you? Your face and stance when Doctor Frankland died last night said something else," Alice sighed and looked at him. "I don’t want you to feel like I am forcing you to tell me anything. But I wanted to check up on you,"

"I'm alright, Alice. I truly am," John said with a light smile. He reached across the table squeezed her hand to assure her that he was telling the truth.

Sherlock stepped outside the inn and walked over to them with three mugs of coffee in hand. "So they didn't put it down then- the dog," 

"Probably couldn't bring themselves to do it,”  Alice said, taking one of the mugs out of Sherlock's hand. “I don’t blame them for that,”

"I’m curious, what happened to Alice and me in the lab?" John asked as he cut one of the sausage links on his plate.

"You want some sauce with that?" Sherlock asked as he reached for a box of sauce packets.

"Don't change the subject," Alice chided before taking a sip of her drink.

"We split up that night, you went with Henry into the Hollow. How come I heard the creature in the lab yesterday?”

"You must've been dosed with it elsewhere. When you went to the lab, did you see the pipes? Leaky as a sleeve probably," Sherlock said, continuing to rummage through the sauces, "And they were carrying the gas,"

"You thought it was in the sugar. You were convinced, actually," John said, thinking about the past day and a half.

"We better get going. There's a train leaving in half an hour if you want-"

"You locked us in that lab!" John accused, finally realizing what his best friend did.

”Yep,” Alice commented under her breath.

"I had to, it was an experiment," Sherlock tried to explain.

"I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death," John yelled.

"I thought the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee. It was all scientific with laboratory conditions, literally,"

“You’ll be lucky if we don’t lock you in the lab at Bart’s,” Alice added. 

"But it wasn't in the sugar. You got it wrong," John continued.

"It won't happen again," Sherlock stated, confidently. Alice and John looked at him suspiciously. "Maybe it will," He corrected himself.

“Damn right it will,” Alice declared as she took another sip of her coffee. ”You better not use us as your guinea pigs ever again,”

Chapter Text

Alice rested her head against Sherlock’s shoulder as the pair sat across from John on the the train back to London. Last night, while under the influence of the drug he though he saw Moriarty. Sherlock had his fair share in drug usage before; he wasn’t ashamed of it. In fact, the drugs would help him escape into his Mind Palace for longer periods of time. Why under the exposure of fear and stimulus did he see Moriarty?

Alice moved slightly in her sleep to get into a more comfortable position. Sherlock looked down at the young woman next to him. He thought about that night, the night at the pool. How much had changed within almost a year How his and Moriarty’s game almost killed Alice and John. Maybe Moriarty was right, maybe he would burn the heart out of Sherlock. And he could never let his heart rule his head.

*

Alice sat with John in the living room while Sherlock continued one of his experiments in the kitchen. It was late at night when she saw the message.
“Alice, you alright?” John asked, noticing her sudden change in posture. 

“John, when was the last time you checked the blog?”

“I updated it this morning, why?”

“Look at the most recent post,”

John quickly went to the table, opened his laptop, and pulled up his blog. “What the hell is this?”

”John? Alice? What is it?” Sherlock asked from the kitchen.

Alice got up from Sherlock’s chair and looked over John’s shoulder. “My best guess is that he hacked into you account,” She turned around and called to the kitchen. ”Sherlock, turn down the Bunsen burner and look at this,”

Sherlock did as he was told and walked into the living room.  “What is it?”

”He’s back,”

Sherlock looked at the computer screen. Above John’s recent post about their recent adventure at Baskerville, was a new post written by Moriarty.

HELLO BOYS- AND GIRL!

Do forgive me for hacking into your blog.

See you soon!

xxxx

“What do you suppose this means?” John asked the couple behind him. 

“I think it’s another warning,” Alice said aloud.

”He’s plotting something,” Sherlock added.

Chapter Text

"Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock exclaimed as he slammed the laustest edition of ‘The Daily Star’on the coffee table with the other papers and magazines that mentioned him. The trio had dealt with the press before, but this was a new level of public interest. Their rise in popularity was due to Sherlock solving high-profile cases. It was a famous painting that started their spree; ever since, Sherlock was referred to by the media as 'The Reichenbach Hero'. 

"Everyone gets one," John said as he flipped through the newspapers.

"One what?" Sherlock asked.

"A tabloid nickname. I'll probably get one soon,"

"Page five, column six. Why do they always use the one with the hat?" Sherlock asked as he held up the deerstalker. “I don’t even wear hats,”

”You read it?”

”I skimmed,”

John nodded and turned to page five. "Confirmed bachelor John Watson?" He mumbled to himself as he read the newspaper article. “What the fuck are they trying to say?”

"What kind of hat has two fronts?"

"It's a deerstalker. And they are used to shield the sun from one’s eyes and neck," Alice explained as she walked into the room. "And John, don't worry, now all the ladies know you're free," she laughed.

"Says the 'Mysterious Beauty'," John retorted. “I know it’s pointless to ask, but why on earth do you know the use of the two visors?”

”I’m full of useless knowledge. But listen, you guys will have to be more careful now," She took the paper out of John's hands and placed it with the others.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked as he tossed the dreaded hat to John.

"For starters, that is no longer a deerstalker, it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. People recognise you now. You’re practically up there with Poirot and Henry Lee,” Alice walked up to Sherlock and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Just find yourself a little case this week, okay? Something in the 6-8 range,”

"This’ll pass. It’s only a matter of time until something else happens,” Sherlock said before he gave her a peck on the forehead.

"Yes, but until something does happen, you need to be control of the narrative. One toe out of line and the media will turn on you. They’ll believe anyone for a good headline,” She moved her hands onto his chest and pushed Sherlock into his armchair. "I have some errands to run. Can you both try not to make the evening news while I’m out?” 

“We’ll do our best,” John responded in a joking tone. “But I’m not making any promises,”

“I’ll take it,” Alice gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips before leaving the flat.

**** Cue Moriarty Breaking Into The Tower of London, Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison ****

***Five Weeks Later***

Alice fixed Sherlock's tie in the boys’ living room. He had been called in as an expert witness for Moriarty's trial. John and Alice were attending as moral support and to make sure Sherlock behaved himself. John stood in the doorway, waiting for the couple. “Ready?”

”As we’ll ever be,” Alice replied as she grabbed her purse and headed down the stairs. The trio was met with journalists and photographers as they exited the building.

"Remember," Alice said as the three sat in the police car on their way to the trial. “don't be clever and just keep everything simple and to the point,"

"God forbid the expert witness at the trial should come across as intelligent," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Intelligent is fine, just don't be a smart arse," John commented.

"I don't even know why we are doing this," Alice mumbled, "We already know the verdict,"

*

Sherlock stood in the bathroom at the Old Bailey court house. As he finished washing his hands, a young woman wearing a deerstalker walked up behind him.

"You're him,"

"Wrong toilet,"

“I follow all your cases. Sign my shirt, would you?" she walked closer to him revealing her excessive cleavage.

"I tend to have two types of fans: 'catch me before I kill again' and 'your bedroom's just a taxi ride away', you're neither,"

"Oh? Then what am I?”

"Those marks on your forearm: edge of a desk. You've been typing in a hurry. The pressure's on and you're facing a deadline. Not to mention the deliberate smudge of ink on your wrist and the obvious recording device in your pocket. You're a journalist,"

"I'm liking you,” 

"You mean I'd make a fantastic feature: Sherlock Holmes- The Man Beneath the Hat,"

"Kitty Riley. Pleased to meet you," Kitty said as she took off her hat and offered her hand for him to shake.

Sherlock looked at it in disgust before looking back at her face. “I’m going to save you the trouble right now. No, I won't give you an interview," He pushed past her as he headed for the door. “And no, I don’t want any money,”

"You and that girl, Alice- what is going on between you two?" Kitty asked as she stopped him from leaving, "There's all sorts of gossip about the three of you. Private lives can easily become public,”

”Is that a threat?”

”You're going to need someone on your side to help you set the record straight,”

"And you think you're the girl for the job,"

"I'm smart and you can trust me," Kitty tucked her business card into his breast pocket. “What do you see?”

"I see someone who's desperate for their first big scoop so that their editor will finally notice them. The skirt you’re wearing has been hemmed twice; it’s the only posh one you own. And your nails; you can't afford to have them professionally done often. I don't see smart and I definitely don't see trustworthy. But I'll give you a quote if you like," Sherlock reached down and took the recorder from her pocket and held it up to his mouth. "You...repel...me,"

Alice and John were waiting outside Courtroom 10 for Sherlock.

"What's taking him so long?" John asked.

"Maybe he's trying to get all of his snarky comments out of the way. If only he could do that on..." Alice trailed off as she saw Moriarty walk past her.

He was dressed in a fine gray suit and  escorted by uniformed officers. He managed to briefly make eye contact and smile at her. James Moriarty couldn't help but smile. The princess in his fairytale had come to see the villain at his best. Though she was currently protected by the hero and the knight, Jim made sure that would change in the near future. This time, the villain would win. Alice had first caught Moriarty's attention when she was still with the CIA. She had single-handedly managed to hack into the security system of one of his clients. After he researched her and pulled some favours, he was impressed. A child prodigy, sharpshooter, and cybersecurity master; it was a dream come true. His heart exploded when he saw her solve the cases that were meant for Sherlock. She was smarter than the consulting detective and that meant that she was perfect for him: for James Moriarty. Together, they could dominate the world, and he would give her the world. 

Chapter Text

Alice shifted in her seat once she notice a familiar face watching her in the gallery. "Are you alright?" John whispered.

"It’s just nerves. I’ll be fine," Alice whispered back. John nodded and they turned back to the court below.

"A consulting criminal," The prosecuting lawyer said as Sherlock stood in the witness box. "Your words. Can you expand on that statement?"

"James Moriarty is for hire,” Sherlock said flatly.

"A tradesman?"

"Yes,"

"But not the sort one would call to fix their heating,"

"No, he’s more of the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination. I know for a fact that he has done the first one at least five times on unsuspecting civilians,"

"Would you describe him as-"

"Can't," Sherlock interrupted.

"Oh dear God," Alice whispered as she and John watched from the upper-level gallery.

"Can't do that," Sherlock continued, “You're leading the witness,” He nodded towards Moriarty's lawyer, "He'll object and the judge will uphold. It’s a basic tactic really,"

"Mr. Holmes," The judge said, already irritated.

"Ask me how, how would I describe him? What opinions have I formed of him? Do they honestly not teach you this? Anyone who watches a crime show would do better,"

"Mr. Holmes, we are fine without your help," The judge reprimanded.

"How would you describe this man- his character?" The prosecuting lawyer asked, trying to get back on track.

Sherlock stared at Moriarty, "James Moriarty isn't a man at all- he is a spider at the centre of a criminal web with thousands of threads and he knows exactly how every single one of them dances,"

Jim nodded his head and smiled slightly, approving Sherlock's description of him.

"And how long..." The prosecutor began to say.

"No, no, no, that's not a good question," Sherlock motioned up to the gallery. "I swear, the journalists up there could provide a better interrogation,"

"Mr. Holmes!" The Judge chastised.

Sherlock turned back to the prosecutor. "How long have I known him?" Alice began to rub her temples, trying to soothe the oncoming headache. “We've met twice, about five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I felt we had something special,"

The judge began to laugh. "Miss. Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two minutes would have made me an expert; five was ample,”

“Mr. Holmes, that is a matter for the jury to decide,” The judge argued.

“Oh, really?" Sherlock questioned. Alice and John nervously looked at each other.

"He's screwed," Alice mumbled as she buried her head in her hands.

Sherlock looked up at the gallery to see John shake his head before turning his attention to the jury box. "One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs; the foreman's a medical secretary; seven are married and two are having an affair with each other."

"Mr. Holmes!" The judge yelled angrily, "You've been called here to answer Miss. Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellect. Keep your answers brief and anything else will be treated as contempt,"

John waited for Sherlock as he was released from his cell. "What did we tell you?" he asked with his arms folded. “Don't get clever,”

"Well?”Sherlock asked as they began to walk out of the courthouse.

“Well, what?”

"You both were there for the whole thing. Was there anything of importance?"

"Like you both said it would be. Moriarty's lawyer sat the entire time. They’re not mounting any defense,"

The two returned to 221b. Alice, who had left the courthouse earlier, sat on the sofa with her computer on her lap. "Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville Prison. Three- please correct me if I’m wrong- of the most secure places in all of England and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks into all three at the same time without any issue," She said out loud. "No one knows how or why,"

"All we know is that he ended up in custody," John added.

"Precisely,"

"What are you thinking about, Alice?” Sherlock asked, recognising his girlfriend’s thinking face. “Because we might be thinking the same thing,”

“If Moriarty really wanted the Crown Jewels, he'd easily have them without us noticing until it was too late,” Alice closed her computer and began to pace. “Moriarty chose to be caught. Every major news channel is covering this trial. Every criminal is going to watch him go scot-free tomorrow. It’s free advertising for his services as the one-and-only consulting criminal. He’ll have his pick of the litter by the end of the day,”

"All of this is part of his scheme,"

"He’s playing a much bigger game than last time. Why did Moriarty write 'Get Sherlock' on the glass?" Alice asked the group, trying to bounce off of their thoughts. Three heads were always better than one and different viewpoints always helped. "He knew we’d see it on the security footage,"

"No idea," Sherlock said, sitting down in his chair and closing his eyes. His hand moved up to his chin, he was now in his thinking position. 

"Maybe it was a message. You know how last time Moriarty addressed the phone to Sherlock and tailored every case to him. Maybe he wanted to grab our attention," John kindly suggested. 

"Yes, but then why would he deliberately text me when he was at the tower?" Sherlock rebutted.

"You might be onto something, John. It’s Moriarty after all. He does everything with a purpose," Alice sat down on the armrest of Sherlock’s chair. "The man oozes control. Even the slightest movement is still under his command,"

"So it was a message," John clarified. "Obviously it could have been for Scotland Yard. But even then, Moriarty would have found an easier way to contact us. The message must’ve been for someone else. But who?"

"I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing, not when we’re dealing with Moriarty,"

***

Alice and John sat in the gallery of Old Bailey without Sherlock. They had all agreed that it would be best if he stayed back at the flat for the rest of the trial. Alice and John were still inconspicuous enough to watch the trial without the press hounding them.

"Mr. Crayhill," The judge turned to Moriarty's defense lawyer, "May we have your first witness,"

"Your Honour, we're not calling any witnesses,"

Everyone in the courtroom murmured in surprise and confusion. 

"I don't follow. You've entered a plea of Not Guilty,"

"Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defense rests," Moriarty's lawyer sat down. Jim turned around to look at the gallery and shrugged, almost mocking them. He then drifted his gaze towards Alice, their eyes meeting for a second before she tore away her gaze.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which- if he's found guilty- will elicit a very long custodial sentence. Yet, his legal team has offered no evidence to support their plea of innocence. I find myself in the very unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty," The judge emphasized.

John watched Alice pace in the hallway outside the courtroom. Her heels making a distinctive noise with each step she took. "Why am I so stressed about this trial? It’s not like we don't already know the verdict,"

"Alice, they could surprise you," John said as she sat down beside him on a bench in defeat.

"Moriarty's too good to let that happen. I said it last night, he chose to be in that cell. You saw the footage, he just sat on the throne and waited. He chose to be caught, and," Alice sighed, "he’s going to walk free,"

"They're coming back," A court clerk said as he hurried out of a side room.

"They just went into the jury room six minutes ago," John said as he stood up, double-checking his watch.

"I'm surprised it took him that long," Alice said to herself as she and John went back into the courtroom gallery. 

Chapter Text

"Not guilty!" John yelled into his phone as he and Alice walked to the nearest Tube station. "It was exactly how you two said it would be,"

"Sherlock?" Alice asked as she took John's phone, "Listen, he wants an audience, and right now he wants that audience to be you. He’ll be at the flat soon enough, so do try to treat him with some civility,"

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked as he turned on the kettle and prepared a tea tray.

"I better not find you on the floor, dead,"

Sherlock let out a slight chuckled and ended the call.

After he placed the small tray on the side table next to John’s chair, Sherlock picked up his violin and started playing Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor. He could hear the front door being unlocked downstairs. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson was out for the week and therefore saved from the fright of someone breaking into her home. He paused his playing when he heard one of the stairs creak as Jim walked up to 221B.  Sherlock continued his playing until Moriarty pushed open the door.

"Most people knock," Sherlock said with his back still facing the door. "But then, you're not most people, I suppose," He looked over his should and gestured towards the tea tray beside John's chair with his bow. "Kettle's just boiled,"

Jim walked further into the room and picked up an apple from the coffee table. "Johann Sebastian would be appalled," He said as he tossed it into the air. "May I?"

Sherlock pointed to John's chair with his bow once more. "By all means,"

Moriarty smiled sat in Sherlock's armchair. He took a small penknife from his pocket and began to cut into the apple. "You know, when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end..."

"...And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano, and finished it," Sherlock finished as he poured tea for the two of them.

"The old man couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody,"

"Neither can you, that's why you've come,"

"But be honest, you're just a tiny bit pleased,"

"With what? The verdict? Alice already concluded your freedom when you got arrested," Sherlock picked up one of the teacups and added a splash of milk before offering it to Jim.

"That does not surprise me. Alice has always been rather brilliant," Jim smiled. "But no, I mean you. You are pleased with me...back on the streets," Jim said softly. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, still carving into the apple. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. The hero may have the princess and knight by his side, but it won't be long until the villain becomes victorious,"

"I doubt that,"

"You need me, Sherlock. I know you hate to admit it, but without me you're nothing. You see, we're alike, you and I- except you're boring,” Jim shook his head and clicked his tongue in disappointment. "You're on the side of Angels. But don’t forget that Angels can always fall,"

"You got to the jury, of course,"

Moriarty scoffed. "I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

“Cable network, simple enough,” Sherlock deduced.

"Every hotel bedroom has a TV screen and every person has their pressure point. Even you," Moriarty took another sip of his tea. He began to drum on his fingers on his knee. "How hard do you find it: having to say 'I don't know'?"

"I dunno," Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

“Oh that was clever,” Moriarty chuckled, “Speaking of clever, have you told your friends yet? Why I broke into all those places? Or did precious Alice solve it already? She's always been smarter than you. Imagine her by my side, the chaos that we would create together. I’d treat her like a queen with the world at our beck and call,”

"You didn't take anything because you didn’t need to," Sherlock said, wanting to shift the conversation away from Alice. "Because nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three,"

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now. I have everything. Nuclear codes- I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown. Oh wait, you have,"

"You were showing the world what you can do,"

"And you were helping of course. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities, terrorist cells. They all want me and my services. Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex,"

"What is it all for?" Sherlock asked as Moriarty continued to jab the penknife into the apple. 

"I want to solve our problem; the final problem,” Moriarty lowered his head, “It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall. But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination,"

"I’ve never liked riddles," Sherlock said as he stood up.

"Well learn to," Moriarty said, standing up as well. "Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I... owe... you,"

“What is the final problem?”

"I mentioned it earlier, but did you listen?"

Sherlock was to speak but refrained from doing so once they heard the front door open. The two looked at each other in silence as they heard Alice walk up the stairs to the boys’ flat.

"Sherlock, John’s gone to get takeout and we need to have Mrs. Hudson switch out the..." She stopped in the doorway mid-sentence once she saw that Moriarty was still there. "I was wondering why Sebastian was watching John and me in the gallery these past few days," Alice smirked as she placed her handbag on the table beside the door. “Did he pick the lock on our front door for you too? Or did you actually do something yourself for once?”

"You wound me, Alice," Moriarty said as he walked over to her. "I hate knowing you to think so little of me,"

"Oh you love it," Alice scoffed and crossed her arms. "I saw it in your face then and I see it in your face now. You want to prove to everyone that you are the best. That's why you did it, because you knew that everyone would watch you get away with it,"

"You caught me," He said with a flourish.

The two were now inches apart. Alice had no choice to look up at Moriarty, her 5'2 frame was no match for his 5'8. The two stared at one another, fighting for the unspoken dominance in their conversation. Moriarty leaned down and whispered into her ear, "Until next time, sweet Alice,"

"James," Alice replied so softly that only he could hear. They maintained eye contact as Moriarty gently handed her the apple he was carving and left the flat. He smiled on his way down, knowing that he won their little battle.

As soon as Moriarty left, Sherlock ran to Alice and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Are you all right? What did he say to you?”

“I’m fine,” Alice looked down at the apple in her hand. "I O U," She read aloud, "More importantly, what did he say to you?"

Chapter Text

John handed Alice a copy of ’The Guardian’ as they sat in the window of a small cafe. “So, Moriarty’s gone,”

Alice took a look at the headline mentioning Moriarty’s disappearance. “No, he’s just planning the next chapter in his twisted story,”

*

Alice and John sat in the 'Stranger's Room' at the Diogenes Club. John had made a huge scene earlier by talking in the main room. "Traditions, John. Our traditions define us," Mycroft said as he poured himself a drink from the decanter.

"So total silence is traditional? You can't even ask for someone to pass the sugar bowl," John commented

"Well, when you have a good chunk of the world’s government sharing a tea cart, silence is the path of least resistance," Alice explained. “Also, it minimises the chance of World War III by a long shot,”

"Precisely," Mycroft smiled.

"It’s been two months since Moriarty’s disappearance, why have you called for us now?”

Mycroft handed Alice a copy of ‘The Sun’. “This,”

“You actually read this bullshit?"

"It caught my eye. They’re publishing a big exposé on Saturday,"

Sherlock: The Shocking Truth

Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All

An Exclusive by Kitty Riley

"Super-sleuth Sherlock Holmes has today been exposed as a fraud," Alice scoffed as she read the paper. She quickly removed her notebook from her bag and write down Kitty’s name as well as Brook’s on an empty page.

"I'd love to know where Miss. Riley got her information," John commented.

"Someone called Brook. Recognize the name?"

"School friend, maybe?"

"Of Sherlock's" Mycroft laughed, "Alice?"

"Not really, but it is intriguing,” Alice said, looking up from her notebook. “Why else did you ask us to come?”

“Here,” Mycroft picked up several folders and handed one to John. He opened up the file and looked at the photograph on the top page.

"Who's this?" John asked.

"Don't know him?"

"He moved in a while ago, two doors down if I recall,” Alice said as she took a look at the photograph.

"Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly-trained killer living less than twenty feet from your door," Mycroft handed them another file. "Dyachenko, Ludmila,"

"Oh, I think I have seen her," John said as he looked at her photo.

"Of course you have," Alice joked before looking at the photo again. "She moved in opposite us. Judging by the name and the fact that she is among your files, she's a Russian sharpshooter,”

"Four international assassins have relocated within spitting distance of your flats. Anything you care to tell me?" Mycroft questioned.

"I should move with Alice to the States?" John joked, earning an unamused look from Mycroft.

"So that's what he meant," Alice mumbled to herself as she flipped through her notebook.

"What was that?" Mycroft asked, turning his attention to the American.

"In the security footage at the Tower, Moriarty wrote 'Get Sherlock' on the glass," Alice said, looking up at the two boys, "I was confused at first but now it's clear. It was a message to his clients. The first one to kill Sherlock wins. Though, our assassins won't be winning anything. Moriarty has this obsession with Sherlock, I doubt that he would let anyone get the final victory. They’re probably there to watch us. Sherlock has his homeless network and Moriarty has his assassins,”

"Interesting theory," Mycroft noted.

"Why don't you tell Sherlock about them if you're so concerned about him?" John asked. 

Alice rolled her eyes as Mycroft fiddled with his glass. "Are you serious? Mycroft, you two are grown men!" 

"Too much history between us. Old scores; resentments," Mycroft admitted.

“What did you do? Break his ‘My First Chemistry Set’?”

John laughed and headed for the door.

"We all know what's coming," Mycroft said, causing John to turn back towards him. "Moriarty is obsessed. He's sworn to destroy Sherlock,"

"So you want us to watch out for your brother because he won't directly accept your help?" John asked.

"If it's not too much trouble," Mycroft smiled at John but it faded quickly and turned into a more threatening face. 

"Go on without me, John. Mycroft and I have some other things to discuss," Alice said warmly to the doctor.

"Uh, okay,"

Alice waited for John to leave the room before getting down to business. “I am conducting my own investigation on how Moriarty got into the Tower, prison, and bank. Sherlock said he mentioned a code so I am running a few tests on my computer to find it. However, I have another hunch and I need your help. Of course, I’ll let you know of my findings,”

”What do you need?”

“The security footage from each’s security rooms,”

”That can be arranged,” 

"Thank you. Now, this Richard Brook, it’s Moriarty. It's an obvious clue,"

"What are you saying?"

"Sherlock said that Moriarty considers himself a villain in a fairytale. Namely whatever story is between the two of them.  I knew that name sounded interesting," Alice said as she began to pace in front of Mycroft. "Do you speak German?"

"I'm fluent in the language, yes,"

"Then you should have noticed: Rich Brook roughly translates to Reicher Bach. The Reichenbach Falls painting was the case that made Sherlock famous. The timeline works out, Moriarty vanished about two months ago, right after the trial. That would leave him plenty of time to create an alias and backstory,"

Suddenly Alice's phone began to ring. Alice looked at the caller ID and immediately answered the call.

"Sherlock, is everything alright?"

"There's been a kidnapping," Sherlock said on the other line. 

"Oh dear God! Do you need me to come and help?"

"No, not yet. Are you still with Mycroft?"

Alice turned towards Mycroft, "Yeah, we were discussing Moriarty,"

"Stay with him,"

"What? Why?"

"This kidnapping has to do with Moriarty, I am sure of it. If he is willing to kidnap the ambassador to the U.S's two kids to get my attention, then he won't hesitate to kidnap you too,"

"There are kids involved?!"

"Yes, I'll talk to you when we get more information,"

"Okay, stay safe,” Alice let out a deep breath and ended the call.

"Everything all right?"

"Rufus Bruhl's children were kidnapped last night. Sherlock thinks it was Moriarty,"

Chapter Text

Sherlock and John arrived outside the front entrance of St. Aldate's School. As they got out of their vehicle, they noticed a crying woman on the hood of a police car.

"Miss. Mackenzie," Lestrade informed them as they walked in her direction, "Housemistress. Go easy on her,”

Sherlock nodded and walked up to the woman alone. "Miss. Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet this place was open last night under your care. What are you: an idiot, a criminal?"

Miss. Mackenzie looked at him tearfully, "All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their rooms last night. You must believe me,"

"I do, I just wanted you to speak quickly,” Sherlock reassured before turning around to the police crew behind him. “Miss. Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now,"

Lestrade led Sherlock and John into the dormitories. 

"Six grand a year, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe. You said the other kids had left on holiday?" John asked as Sherlock looked around the room.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor. And before you ask, there is no sign of a break-in, Lestrade explained. "The intruder must have hidden inside someplace," 

Sherlock looked inside the wooden trunk. Among the items was a copy of 'Grimms's Fairy Tales' in an opened envelope with a red wax seal. "Show me where the brother slept,"

The three stood in a smaller room. "The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source: the corridor. He'd recognize every shape, every outline. The silhouette of everyone who came to the door," Sherlock said, motioning to the door with a frosted glass pane. "So if someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognize, an intruder...” Sherlock began to recreate the kidnapping. “...what would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them?" He walked around the bed and looked at the boy's possessions, "This little boy; this particular little boy who reads all those spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" John suggested. Sherlock sniffed the empty bottle of oil that he found from under the bed.

"Get Anderson,"

Sherlock looked around the now darkened rooms with a handheld ultraviolet light. On the wall next to the boy's bed were the words HELP US.

"Linseed oil," Sherlock observed. He shined his ultraviolet light onto the floor, revealing sets of illuminated footprints leading towards the door.

"He made a trail," John observed.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them,"

John looked at the smaller set of footprints. "On his tiptoes?"

"Indicates anxiety," Sherlock explained, "A gun was held to his head," He began to follow the trail until the footsteps disappeared a few yards away. "The girl pulled along beside him, dragged sideways. He had his arm around her neck,"

"That's the end of it," Anderson said. "We don't know where they went from here,"

"Wonderful deduction Anderson, really wonderful,” Sherlock replied sarcastically. “We have nothing except for his shoe size, his height, his gait, and his walking pace," He reached to the closest window and tore down the blackout material, letting the light flood back into the hall. Sherlock scraped the dried linseed oil from the floor and into a lidded Petri dish. 

*

"How did he get past the security cameras?” John asked as he and Sherlock took a taxi back to London. "All the doors would have locked,”

"He walked in when they weren't locked. Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment,”

 “Could you not be so tight-lipped?”

“Yesterday was the end of term. Parents, chauffeurs, staff all walking about. Who would notice an added stranger in the mix?"

*

Sherlock sat in the lab at St. Bart's, testing the linseed oil and the samples he collected from earlier. “All the chemical traces on the kidnapper’s shoes have been preserved. How kind of him. What was the analysis on the liquid?”

Molly looked at the now blue litmus paper in the Petri dish. “Alkaline,”

“Thank you, John,”

“Molly,”

"You look sad," Molly said as she helped Sherlock. "When you think they can't see you,"

Sherlock lifted his head to subtly glance at John. His thought then drifted to Alice. Mycroft had assured him that she was safe. He was tempted to call her again and ask for her advice on the case but he didn't want to worry her. She was already working on Moriarty’s message for his clients when he last saw her.

"Are you okay?" Molly asked, "And don't just say that you are for the sake of it because I know what that means; looking sad when you think no one can see you,"

Sherlock lifted his head from the microscope and looked at the pathologist. "But you can see me,"

"I don't count,” Sherlock blinked in confusion and Molly opened up a bit more. “I've seen how you look at her; how you look at your phone every couple of minutes, hoping that she would call you to say that she was fine and safe. It’s the same look you have with Mrs. Hudson and with John but with more intent,” Molly paused before continuing “What I'm trying to say is: if there is anything you need..."

"Wh-what could I need from you?" Sherlock asked.

"I dunno. But if there is anything you need, I am here. This is normally when people say thank you,” Molly added.

"...Thank you," ” Sherlock looked at her, really looked at her. Was it possible that she was once part of Moriarty's plan to destroy him? Sherlock knew about Molly's crush on him and he'd be lying when saying he didn't use it to his advantage when he was working on a case. He watched Molly leave the lab before turning his attention back to his microscope. Still, he couldn't get the idea of Molly's importance to him out of his head.

"Sherlock?" John said as he walked over with a photograph of the girl's open trunk. "This envelope that was in her trunk, there was another one," he pulled out the envelope he had found on their doorstep from his coat pocket and handed it to Sherlock. "I found it on our doorstep when I got back from visiting with Mycroft. Look, the same seal as the one in the girl’s trunk,"

Sherlock took the envelope from John's hands and reached into the envelope. "Breadcrumbs," he observed as he took out some of the brown particles. "A little trace of breadcrumbs; a hardback copy of fairy tales," his eyes widened in realisation, "Two children led into the forest by a wicked father, follow a little trail of breadcrumbs,"

"That's 'Hansel and Gretel'. What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?"

"The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it's all a game. He said that every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. The fifth substance: it's part of the tale,"

"So we have chalk, asphalt, brick dust, and vegetation from the kidnapper's shoes. But what does that have to do with Hansel and Gretel? Hansel and Gretel were kidnapped by a witch, right?"

Sherlock lept to his feet. "The glycerol molecule- PGPR!"

"What's that?"

"It's used in making chocolate. We need to look for a disused sweet factory," Sherlock said as he headed out the door.

*

"Sebastian?" The sound of his name stopped Sebastian Moran in his steps. The sandy-brown haired young man turned around to see the object of his boss's affections staring at him.

"Miss. Alice," Sebastian lifted his flat cap in respect. "How can I help you?"

Alice walked closer to him. "Is he with you?"

"No, ma'am,"

"Can we talk? About him?"

Sebastian nodded and Alice led them to a small cafe near the Marble Arch. They sat at the window, each with a cup of coffee in their hands. To the untrained eye, Alice and Sebastian looked like an innocent young couple on a date. But in reality, these were two people that could easily infiltrate any business or government if the whim arose.

"Why are you with him?" Alice asked Sebastian. "You're a retired soldier and an expert marksman.  So, why are you with him?"

"It beats being dead. I can see why he likes you, Jim,"

"That's not an answer to my question,"

"I got into some trouble when I was younger and he helped me out. He recruited me a few months later and the job pays well," Sebastian said, lifting up his coffee cup and shrugging. "Based on your background, I am amazed he hasn't tried to recruit you sooner,"

Alice shrugged. "Maybe it's because I'm American," she joked.

"Nah, Jim doesn't care about that sort of thing. Usefulness and loyalty- that is what matters most to him.  He does you a favour, you do him one. That's how it works with our clients. And even without me or the favours he does have, he can still cause chaos around him,"

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know, Miss. Alice,"

"You have to know, you're his right-hand man. James Moriarty vanished two months ago and Richard Brook suddenly appears and provides a tell-all on Sherlock with information that I don't even have,"

“I can’t say,”

“You can’t of you won’t?”

“Does it really matter? But in truth, at the moment, I don’t know where Jim is,”

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," Alice sighed as she buried her hands in her face. "You know I can't believe you,"

"I know," Sebastian said as he patted her on the back. "But I can tell you this, Miss. Alice: The fall is coming, there is no point in trying to stop it," he tossed his cup into the trash and left the cafe, giving her a nod of acknowledgment on his way out.

Chapter Text

"Greg," Alice said as she entered Lestrade's office at Scotland Yard. She was surprised to receive a call from him since she was positive that he was with Sherlock and John all day.

"Alice," Lestrade motioned for her to sit in one of the seats across from him. "You may want to sit down for what I'm about to tell you,"

"I'm fine with standing if that's alright with you,"

Lestrade nodded. "Of course, I called you here because we have a difficult case on our hands,"

"The kidnapping of the American ambassador's children, correct?"

"I take it Sherlock told you about the case,"

"Only that I shouldn't worry. The last I heard from him he was on his way to the school,"

"Well, we found the kids. They were in a disused factory being poisoned with mercury,"

"Oh God, are they alright? Have they seen a doctor yet?"

Lestrade nodded, encouraging Alice to sit down once more. "Yes, and Mr. Bruhl is on his way from Washington as we speak,"

Alice obliged in sat down across from Lestrade who put a file on his desk. "Okay, that doesn't explain why you've called me here,"

Lestrade opened the file and handed her photographs of the kidnapper's footprints Sherlock found in both ultraviolet light and regular sunlight. "I need your opinion on this,"

"Same footprint. When measured correctly, you can easily guess the kidnapper's height and walking pace. But that's not why you've called me here, is it?"

"No." Lestrade then showed her a photograph of a singular footprint under the ultraviolet light. "He managed to find the children using a singular footprint,"

"Knowing Sherlock, he probably took some samples of the flooring with the footprint and ran some tests on them," Alice looked up from the photo and notice Lestrade fidgeting. "You're trying to dodge something. Please tell me what happened when you found the children,"

Lestrade sighed and sat up straighter. "When Sherlock went in to question the young girl- Claudette- she began to scream in terror. We had to remove him from the room. Something about Sherlock reminded her of the kidnapper,"

Alice took a deep breath. "Greg, you're not thinking that-"

"No, but think Donovan is. I just thought you should be prepared for whatever comes next. If she goes to the Chief Superintendant, I'll have no way of stopping her,"

Alice stood up and walked to the door. "Thank you for informing me about all of this, but I know that Sherlock is innocent,"

Greg nodded. "I believe he is innocent too. I just don't want things to get too out of hand,"

Alice gave him a small smile and exited his office. On her way out, she couldn't help but notice the letters I O U spraypainted on the windows of the building across the street.

*

"So there are four assassins living right by our doorstep?" Sherlock asked as he and John entered their flat after watching an ambulance wheel away Sulejmani's body.

"As far as I know, yes. The one that saved you was Sulejmani. Mycroft showed Alice and me his file along with three others. He's a big Albanian gangster or something like that,"

"He died because I shook his hand. He saved my life but he couldn't touch me. Why?"

"I don't know,"

"In all this time, they didn't kill me,” Sherlock sat down at the table with his computer. "I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me..."

"...the others kill them before they can get it," John finished.

Sherlock nodded and turned his computer towards John. On his screen were the names of nearby Wi-fi networks. Out of the nine with the strongest signals, five were in a foreign language. "There are nine wi-fi networks near us with a strong signal. Four of them we need don't have to worry about since they belong to us, Mr. Hudson, the cafe, and Alice. The other five have their names in a foreign language. "All of the attention is focussed on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now," 

"So what have you got that's so important," John asked as he looked at the computer. 

"I'm not sure," Sherlock ran his finger along the table and took a closer look at it. "We need to ask about the dusting,"

Mrs. Hudson stood in 221b in her nightdress and robe; Alice stood beside her.

"Precise details: in the last week, what's been cleaned?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, Tuesday I did the lino..." Mrs. Hudson began.

"No, in here, in this room. This is where we'll find it. You can but back anything but dust,"

"What's he going on about?" Mrs. Hudson asked Alice.

"Sherlock found the cameras." Alice clarified to Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock climbed the furniture to reach the top shelf of the bookcase. "It's on the right side of the other bookcase," she informed him.

"Cameras! Here? I'm in my nightie!" Mrs. Hudson cringed at the thought of someone watching her in her nightdress. The doorbell rang and Mrs. Hudson and John hurried out of the room to go and answer it while Sherlock searched the bookcase on the other side of the fireplace.

"I disabled it remotely last week,"

"The answer's no," Sherlock said aloud to Lestrade, who had just entered the flat. John entering right after the detective inspector. 

"But you haven't heard the question!"

Sherlock unplugged the camera from its wires and stepped back down onto the floor. "You want to take me to the station," he surmised while handing the camera to Alice.   

Greg took a deep breath, "Sherlock,"

"Was it the scream?"

"Yeah,"

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Moriarty's smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist,"

"Will you come?"

"He's playing a game, Lestrade, and it's not one I am willing to play. But do give my regards to Sargent Donovan,"

Lestrade sighed and headed back downstairs. Alice and John stood by the window, looking out onto Baker Street.

"All it takes is a single photograph- one simple picture of Sherlock being taken in for questioning," She mumbled to John.

"Moriarty's trying to discredit Sherlock bit by bit," John mused.

Lestrade looked up at Alice from the street below and shook his head. "They're deciding now," She said out loud. "We might as well come up with a plan instead of just waiting for them to come back,"

"Deciding?" John asked, watching as Lestrade and Donovan head back to Scotland Yard.

"Whether to come back with a warrant for my arrest. It's the standard procedure," Sherlock elaborated.

"Sherlock, you should've gone with him. People will think..." Alice began to say before she was cut off by Sherlock.

"I don't care what people think,"

"Well, I do!" Alice yelled back, "I don't want the world to believe that you're a fraud"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're worried they're right," 

"No, I'm worried that Moriarty has been too clever. He's already sprinkled the doubt into their brains. He's missing and there is nothing we can do about it. This is it, this is the fall: the fall of Sherlock, the fall of his reputation," Alice began to make her way over to the sofa with John. 

"Well I know he's real," John mumbled as he sat down on the couch. "There is no way anyone could fake being such a dick all the time," Alice let out a light laugh while Sherlock merely smiled in appreciation of John's joke. But no one noticed Sherlock drop that smile when both Alice and John were turned away from him. 

*

"They're all coming over here: everyone you've ever insulted or disparaged. All of them are lining up to slap on the handcuffs," John said as he got off the phone with Lestrade, "Even the Chief Superintendant is coming. There's not much Greg can do now,"

"Ooh-ooh," Mrs. Hudson, still in her nightdress, knocked on the front door. "I nearly forgot, some chap delivered this parcel," she proceeded to hand John a small bubble mailer. "It was marked 'Perishable', I had to sign for it. It was a funny name. German- like the fairy tales,"

"Hey guys," John said, motioning for both Sherlock and Alice to get a closer look at the package. "It's the same wax seal as before," John reached into the envelope and pulled out a large gingerbread man.

"It's burnt to a crisp," Sherlock observed. 

"What does it mean?"

Outside, they could hear several sirens nearing the flat, the collective slamming of the car doors alerted the trio that it was time: all of Scotland Yard was was at their door. "Police!" a voice yelled from the outside.

"I'll go," Alice told the group as she began her descent down the steps. She slowly walked down the stairs and opened the front door. "Sally, Greg," She acknowledged both officers at the door before moving out of the way.

"Evening, Alice," Lestrade said calmly as he, Donovan, and Alice headed up to 221b. 

"Don't barge in like that!" Mrs. Hudson yelled as Sally walked into the flat. 

"Have you got a warrant?" John bitterly asked her.

"Leave it, John," Lestrade ordered. Sherlock, who already had his scarf around his next, carefully put on one of his coats. As soon as both of his arms were through the holes, Lestrade stood in front of him while an officer placed Sherlock's hands behind him in order to cuff his wrists. "Sherlock Holmes, I am arresting you on suspcion of abduction and kidnapping,"

"He's not resisting," John argued calmly.

"It's alright, John," Sherlock assured his flatmate.

"Get him downstairs, now," Lestrade ordered one of the armed policemen. The officer then escorted Sherlock out of the flat, pass Alice who comforting a crying Mrs. Hudson.

"This is bloody ridiculous," John argued again.

"Don't interfere, John. Or I'll arrest you too," Lestrade responded before leaving the flat.

Sally stood by the door with a smug look on her face. She was proud of herself, proud that she was the one who saw through Sherlock's magic tricks and bullshit. "I told you," She said to John. "When we first met,"

"Oh, shut up," John snapped back. 

"Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line,"

Alice was thankful that she was busy looking after Mrs. Hudson because if she wasn't, her fist would have met Sally Donovan's face in a split second.

"Donovan," The Chief Superintendant acknowledged as he entered the room. "Got our man?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Looked like a bit of weirdo if you asked me. But then, most of them are- these vigilante types," John angrily turned towards him. "What are you looking at?"

Sherlock and John leaned against the side of a police car. Sherlock looked at his friend, confused.

"Joining me?" Sherlock asked, amused.

"Yeah, apparently it's against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant. Alice is in the clear for now. It's just her by the door,"

Behind them, an officer uncuffed Sherlock's right hand and transferred the cuff to John's wrist. 

"This is a bit awkward, I imagine Alice has a lockpicking set on her," John laughed. "The question is; how can we escape all this with her in tow?"

"I've got an idea,"

"Oh no,"

Sherlock smiled at John as he pulled a pistol from an officer and aimed it towards the nearest officers. "Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" When no one did as they were told, Sherlock fired two rounds in the air. "Now, would be good,"

"Do as he says," Lestrade yelled at the rest of the Yarders. His face was full of exasperation.

Sherlock continued to aim the gun at the officers as they backed away and onto the stoop of 221 Baker Street. Alice, who stood in the doorway looked at Sherlock annoyed. She knew that face and was not fond of what came afterward. 

"Ju-just so you are aware," John stuttered, "the gun is his idea. I'm just... you know..."

"My hostages!" Sherlock announced as he aimed the pistol at Alice's head and motioned for her to step forward.

"What are you doing?" she whispered to the detective.

"What Moriarty wants; I'm becoming a fugitive. Run!" Sherlock turned and bolted down the road, dragging John and Alice with him.

Chapter Text

Sherlock led the trio down a few blocks before swerving into a side alley, dropping the gun while doing so.  They could hear the police cars going straight, passing them on the ally. Seeing this as an opportunity to breathe, John looked over to Alice. "You don't happen to have a lock-picking kit on you by any chance,"

Alice looked at him with disdain. "No. Believe it or not, it was not in my schedule to become my fugitive boyfriend's hostage,"

"Well, we're going to have to think of another way. Sherlock," John nudged. "We're being followed. I knew we couldn't outrun the police," The trio turned their attention to where John was looking. In the distance, they could see a figure peering around the alley corner.

"That's not the police," Alice observed. "It's one of our friendly new neighbours,"

"Let's see if he can give us some answers," Sherlock said before running in the opposite direction and through a series of alleyways before coming to the corner with the main road. He looked around the corner and smiled; approaching them was the 74 bus to Baker Street Station. "We're going to jump in front of that bus,"

"What?" John asked as Sherlock drug him onto the street. Alice watched as the assassin threw the boys out of the way and onto the other side of the road. 

Once his feet hit the sidewalk, Sherlock grabbed the assassin's pistol from his pocket, cocked it, and aimed it at the foreign man. "Tell me what you want from me,"

"He left it at your flat, Moriarty"

"What do you mean?"

"The computer keycode,"

Suddenly, three gunshots rang out causing the man to drop to the ground- dead. The two, hearing the nearing police sirens, ran into a nearby doorway to hide. "It's a game-changer," Sherlock thought out loud as John continued to fiddle with their handcuffs. "It's a key that can break into any system and it's apparently sitting in our flat right now," 

Alice had lost the boys. She saw the assassin that saved their life get killed. You win some, you lose some. As soon as the traffic was clear, she ran across the street and in the direction that they ran off to. She walked another block before hearing a familiar whistle. Turning her head in the sound's direction, she found John and Sherlock in a doorway.

"Do we have any leads?" She asked with her arms folded. "Because I have an idea," Alice looked over to the stack of newspapers beside her. It was the same issue of 'The Sun' that Mycroft had shown them that morning. "Remember this, John?"

John took a closer look at the front page with his free hand. "Are you suggesting we interview Miss.Riley?"

Alice smiled sinisterly. "You say 'interview', but I prefer 'interrogate',"

*

Kitty Riley was shocked to find that her front door was slightly ajar. She had locked it when she left the house and the only other person who had a key would have certainly secured and locked it. Hesitantly pushing open the door and flipped the light switch, only to find Sherlock Holmes and John Watson sitting on her sofa with Miss Alice sitting on the chair across from them.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

Kitty sat in an armchair while the trio stood in the middle of the room. "Congratulations," Sherlock said, trying to pick the lock on the handcuffs with a hairpin. "The truth about Sherlock Holmes, You got the scoop that everyone wanted,"

"I gave you the opportunity," Kitty said defensively, "I wanted to be on your side, remember?"

Sherlock, finally able to free his hand, stood up, handed the hairpin to John, and began to pace in the small living room. "And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How convenient. Who is Brook?"

Kitty shook her head, refusing to say anything.

"No good journalist would trust an anonymous tip- not on a story like this. What were his credentials?" Alice asked as John freed himself from the handcuffs.

Outside in the hallway was the sound of someone coming in through the front door. "Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal..." A voice said with a familiar Irish accent. The three turned their head to find themselves face to face once again with Jim Moriarty.

But this wasn't Moriarty; he was unshaven, his hair was messy, and in the place of one of his suits was a simple T-shirt, cardigan, and jeans combo. Alice stared at him, taking in the sight before her. Jim dropped the shopping bags he was holding and backed away until he bumped into the wall behind him.

"You said that they wouldn't find me here," Jim asked, his voice trembling out of fear, "You said that I'd be safe here,"

"You are safe, Richard," Kitty comforted, "He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses,"

"So, that's your source?" John asked Kitty, pointing at Moriarty. "Moriarty is Richard Brook?"

"Of course he's Richard Brook, there is no Moriarty, there never has been. Look him up, Rich Brook is an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty,"

"Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man. Please don't hurt me," Moriarty said with his hands still up, looking at everyone nervously. "And Alice, I am so sorry for the harm I have caused you,"

"No!" John yelled, pointing at him furiously, "No, you are Moriarty. We've met, remember? You were gonna blow us up!"

"I'm sorry," Moriarty gestured towards Sherlock, "He paid me, I needed the work. I'm an actor and I was out of work,"

"Someone please explain!" John yelled again.

"I'll happily do the explaining, here," Kitty said, handing John and Alice a draft of her upcoming article before looking at Sherlock. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis, and invented all the crimes,"

"But he was on trial!" 

"Yes," Kitty pointed to Sherlock, "and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good," She walked over to Jim and helped him stand back up. "But not so good he didn't want to sell his story,"

"I am sorry, I truly am," Jim apologised again. "I'm on kid's TV. I'm a storyteller- mostly fairytales,"

"So, this is your story? Moriarty's an actor?" John asked, still trying to grasp onto reality. "Show me something, some proof,"

Kitty handed John and Alice another folder full of articles on Richard Brook and copies of his resume and headshot. 

"Just tell him," Jim said to Sherlock, "It's all coming out now. Just tell them!" 

Sherlock bared his teeth and started to walk towards Jim. Moriarty ran up the short flight of stairs to the upper level of the flat. "Don't you touch me!" Moriarty yelled as he ran into the bathroom and escaping out of the open window.

"You know what, Sherlock Holmes?" Kitty sneered to Sherlock, "I look at you now and I can read you. And you...repel...me,"

Sherlock ignored her and headed out of the door. John, still holding the folder of articles, shoved Kitty aside and followed him. Alice walked out soon after, but not before she gave the journalist a dirty look.

"Can he do that?" John asked as he watched Sherlock pace rapidly in the middle of the road. "Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story. That's what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth,"

"He's been sowing the doubt for the last twenty-four hours," Alice added as she filed through the folder. "If you know the right people, it isn't difficult to create a whole new identity with the proper papers and everything,"

"There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to..." Sherlock stopped pacing. "There's something I need to do,"

"Can we help?" Alice asked.

Sherlock took her hands in his and gently kissed her on the cheek. "No, not this time,"

"The fall is coming," Sebastian's words rang in Alice's ears. "Sherlock, you cannot be considering this," Tears began to form in her eyes. "Let us help you,"

Sherlock pulled her into a hug and gently pressed her lips against his. "You know I can't. This is something I have to do on my own. I'm sorry," He let go of her hands and briskly walked away.

Alice turned to John and wiped a tear from her face. "We need to go see Mycroft,"

*

"You're wrong, you know," Sherlock said, scaring a poor Molly Hooper. "You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you," He turned his head towards her. "But you were right. I'm not okay,"

"Tell me what's wrong," 

Sherlock slowly approached her, "Molly, I'm going to need to die."

"What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am- everything that I think I am- would you still want to help me?"

"What do you need?" Molly asked again.

"You,"

Chapter Text

Mycroft sat in 'The Stranger's Room'. John and Alice stood in front of him with the file they got from Kitty. 

"She's really done her her homework, Miss. Riley," John said. "Things that only someone close to Sherlock would know. Have you looked at your brother's address book lately? Three names: Yours, mine, and Alice's, and Moriarty didn't get this from me. Alice?"

"No,"

"That narrows it down,"

"So how does it work, your relationship? Do you two go out for coffee, you and Jim?" Alice asked, her arms crossed over her chest. "Your own brother! Now I have dealt with men like you for a long time but at least they have boundaries when it comes to their family,"

"I never intended... I never dreamt..." Mycroft began to explain.

"So this, this is what you were trying to tell us, isn't it: Watch his back, 'cause I fucked up," John slammed the file down on the table between them. "How did you meet him?"

"People like him: we know about them; we watch them. Alice has been one of those people, but we now know that she isn't a threat," John gave a confused look at Alice, who gave him a meek smile in return. "James Moriarty is the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen and he has the ultimate weapon in his pocket: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door of his choosing,"

Alice scoffed and pulled out her phone. "You idiot,"

"I beg you pardon?"

"There wasn't a key," Alice showed her phone to Mycroft, it was the security room footage from Pentonville Prison. "Remember what I said to you last year at Buckingham Palace? Loyalty can easily be bought. Moriarty had helpers in each place. I only figured it out when you sent me the footage this afternoon,"

"So, you abducted him to try and find the keycodes," John concluded.

"Interrogated him for weeks. But he just sat there, staring into the darkness,"

"And the only thing that made him open up was you,"

"I could get him to talk, just a little, but..."

"...In return, you gave him Sherlock's life story. One big lie: Sherlock's a fraud. And everyone will believe it because it's wrapped up in the truth,"

"Moriarty wanted to destroy Sherlock in every way possible and you gave him the perfect ammunition," Alice said angrily.

Mycroft lowered his eyes guiltily. John took in a sharp breath and headed for the door. "John, I'm sorry," Mycroft said softly. "Tell him, would you?" John shook his head and walked out the door.

Alice sat down in a chair across from Mycroft. She needed to make sure they were on the same level. Once John closed the door behind him, her demeanor instantly changed. 

"Alice..."

"I am going to get straight to the point. I did warn you, I said that this stupid sibling rivalry was going to hurt you both,"

"I never..."

"I don't care about your intentions. You knew damn well what the risks were when you sold your brother's story to that man. Now, this is when you prove to me right in my belief that you two actually care for one another," Alice got up from her chair and headed for the door. "Don't disappoint me, Mycroft,"

*

Sherlock sat on the floor in the lab at St.Barts, bouncing a small rubber ball off the floor and cupboard in front of him and catching it repeatedly.

"Got your message," John said as he entered the lab, "Is Alice coming as well?"

"No, I don't want her to worry,"

John cleared his throat and sat down on a stool. Unknown to him, Sherlock was texting on his phone.

Come and play

Bart's Hospital rooftop.

SH

By the next morning, John was fast asleep. John's phone began to ring waking the doctor. 

"Yeah, speaking," John bolted up from the stool after hearing from the other end. "What happened? Is she okay? I'm coming,"

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson's been shot. Let's go!"

"You go, I'm busy," Sherlock said, uninterested.

"You're...? You and Alice almost killed a man because he laid a finger on her. You stay here if you want, on your own,"

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me,"

"No, friends protect people,"

Chapter Text

Alice sprinted through the streets of London. She had received a call from John saying that Mrs. Hudson was injured. To her relief, she found out that the report was a fake and probably the work of Moriarty.  "John? Look you need to get back to Bart's. I was just talking with Mrs. H and she's fine. Meet me at Bart's, now!" Alice said into her phone, leaving a message for John.

 This is it, the fall. Alice thought as she ran to St. Bart's Hospital.

"Sebastian," Alice breathed out when she saw Moriarty's sidekick at the entrance to the hospital. She noticed the sniper's rifle at his side. 

"Miss. Alice, you are wanted upstairs," Sebastian said as he held out his hand for her to take.

"It's time, isn't it?"

"Yes,"

*

Sherlock found Moriarty on the rooftop dressed in his typical suit and overcoat.  the Bee Gee's song from earlier played on his phone.

"Here we are at last- you and me, Sherlock, and our problem- the final problem," Moriarty said as he held up his phone higher. "Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" He angrily turned off the music. "All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you. And what's worse is that it was easy. You're ordinary just like all of them. At least Alice is still entertaining," Moriarty started to pace slowly around Sherlock. "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"

"Richard Brook. Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach- the case that made my name," 

"Just tryin' to have some fun," Moriarty continued to circle around Sherlock, taking notice of Sherlock's fingers taping out a rhythm. "Good, you got that too,"

"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero, binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save me. It was hidden inside my head,"

"I told all my clients: the last one to Sherlock is a sissy,"

"Yes, but now that it's up here," Sherlock said, pointing to his head, "I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Moriarty,"

Jim looked at him before turning away with a disappointed look on his face. "No, no, no. This is too easy," He turned back to Sherlock, "There is no key, DOOFUS!" he screamed into Sherlock's face. "Those digits are meaningless. You and your brother couldn't possibly believe that a couple of lines of code could actually crash the world? I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock,"

"But the rhythm..."

"The first movement of Bach's Partita for Violin,"

"But then how did..."

"But how did I break into the Bank, the Tower, and the Prison?" Moriarty smiled at the fact he had bested Sherlock."Of course, you haven't solved it. Let's see if extraordinary Alice has solved it," 

Just then, the stairwell door opened and Alice was forced out onto the roof, Sebastian stood behind her. Moriarty smiled and walked over to her. "Doesn't this bring back memories? Tell him, Alice, tell him how I did it. How I broke into the Bank, the Tower, and Pentonville,"

"You had help. A daylight robbery with willing participants," Alice said as she looked at Jim. 

"I knew he'd fall for it," Moriarty smiled and turned to Sherlock, "That's your weakness- you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building; nice way to do it,"

"Yes, of course. My suicide," Sherlock said, looking at Moriarty

"Genius detective proved to be a fraud," Jim taunted. "I read it in the paper, so it must be true,"

"I can still prove you created an entirely false identity,"

"Oh, just kill yourself and be done with it,"

Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed Moriarty by the coat and spun him around so that his back was towards the edge. "You're insane,"

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty sassed, causing Sherlock to hold him over the edge. "Let me give you a little incentive, your friends will die if you don't,"

"John," Sherlock said as fear crept into his eyes.

"Not just John,"

"Mrs. Hudson,"

"Everyone," Moriarty whispered, smiling.

"Lestrade,"

"Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump,"

Sherlock pulled him back onto the roof and Jim shook himself free.

"What about Alice?"

"Alice will be safe with me, I can provide her protection. You know what? This will be the first fairy tale where the villain wins and gets the princess. And don't worry, I will treat her like a queen. Did she ever tell you about her past? Her freelance work? She was no angel; quite the opposite, actually," Moriarty smiled at Alice before walking up to Sherlock. "You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me, but nothing's going to prevent my men from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends will die and your girlfriend will be by my side... unless..."

"...Unless I kill myself- complete your story,"

Jim smiled and nodded. "You gotta admit, that's sexier," He turned to Alice and Sebastian, "Have her go watch with the others," 

"Yes, boss," Sebastian nodded and calmly escorted Alice off the roof and back down to the street.

Sherlock watched the love of his life on the street from above. It was just him and Moriarty on the roof now. 

"Off you pop," Moriarty said as he looked over the ledge, "Oh, you've really got an audience now," 

Sherlock began to laugh. "You're not going to do it, the killers can be called off," Sherlock started to circle Moriarty. "I don't have to die if I've got you,"

"Oh?" Moriarty mocked, "You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that? Sherlock, your big brother and all the king's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to,"

"Yes, but I'm not my brother," Sherlock said as he stopped walking. "I am you- prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you? I shall not disappoint,"

Jim shook his head slowly. "Nah, you talk big but you're ordinary- you're on the side of the angels,"

"Oh, I may be on the side of angels but don't think for a second that I am one of them,"

"I see. You're not ordinary, you're me," Moriarty lifted his hand as if to shake it with Sherlock's. He let out another delighted squee. "Sherlock Holmes, thank you, bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out. Well, good luck with that!"

Rapidly, Jim pulled out a pistol, aimed the muzzle into his mouth, and pulled the trigger, dropping to the ground. Sherlock looked in horror as blood began to pool around Moriaty's head. Sherlock took a deep breath as he looked down at the street below. He took out his phone and called John.

Alice ran to John as he got out of his taxi. "John! John! Thank God you're here! Sherlock's life is in danger. He- He's up on the roof. We have to call..."

John's phone began to ring, stopping Alice mid-sentence.

"Hello?" John answered his phone.

"John," Sherlock said, fighting the impulse to cry.

"Sherlock, are you okay? Alice is down here freaking out," John turned on the speaker so both he and Alice could hear him.

"I'm okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop,"

"Oh God, what's going on?"

"An apology. It's all true,"

"Wh-what?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty," Sherlock looked at his enemy's dead body behind him

"Why are you lying to us?" Alice asked.

"I'm a fake," Sherlock said, his voice breaking as he saw her from above.

"Sherlock," John said

Tears began to fall down Sherlock's face. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly...in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes,"

"Shut up, Sherlock," John said, tears were also forming in his eyes, "The first time we met, you knew about my sister,"

"No one could be that clever,"

"You could,"

Sherlock laughed and looked down at his friend, another tear dripping down from his face. "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you," he sniffed "It's a trick, just a magic trick,"

"Stop this now, we're coming up," John stated as he and started to walk to the entrance.

"No! Stay exactly where you are," Sherlock ordered. "Don't move, keep your eyes fixed on me,"

John backed up.

"Please, will you do this for me?" Sherlock continued.

"Do what?" Alice asked into the phone.

"This phone call- it's my note. That's what people do, don't they- leave a note?"

Alice took the phone from John and held it up to her ear. "Sherlock, please don't do this. There has to be another way. You can't do this," she began to sob.

"You know I have no other options. I have to do this. It's the only way to keep everyone safe,"

"If I can only say it once, I'll say it now: I love you, Sherlock,"

"What did you mean by leaving a note?" John asked, worried that he already knew the answer.

"John, I want to thank you for everything. Alice, I guess this is my chance to say it. I love you too," Sherlock gazed at his friends and threw his phone onto the roof. He spread his arms out wide and fell forward, nosediving towards the ground.

"No!" Alice screamed in horror as she watched Sherlock fall to the ground.

"Sherlock!" John yelled. Both he and Alice ran towards him. The ambulance station blocked their view of the impact, but both were certain they heard the sound of his body hit the ground. As John ran past the ambulance station, a cyclist crashed into him, sending John into the ground. Alice was close by when she felt a bullet graze her torso. Alice ignored the pain and stood next to John as a bunch of nurses and medical staff rolled Sherlock away on a gurney.

Chapter Text

Alice sat on her couch, wrapped in one of Sherlock's coats. It had been two days since the fall and she hadn't left her flat other than to go upstairs. 221 felt empty with just her, John, and Mrs. Hudson. Outside by the front door was a small memorial dedicated to Sherlock set up by fans, past clients, and acquaintances. Alice and John thanked them in a post on John's blog. 

"It's open," Alice called out from the couch, responding to the knock on her door.

Mycroft entered her flat and tapped his umbrella on the ground. "I just wanted to check in on you,"

"Why?" Alice asked bitterly, still staring at the blank space in front of her. "Mycroft, you always have an ulterior motive,"

"Truthfully, I couldn't bear to lose both of you. Alice, you have become one of my closest confidantes,"

Alice turned towards him, her eyes were red and puffy from crying but there was also a spark behind them. "Please leave your umbrella by the door," she gestured to the armchair by the piano.

Mycroft obliged and placed his umbrella in the stand. "Thank you. How are you doing?"

"I don't even know anymore. He said I had to do this for him, he wanted me to tell everyone that he was a fraud," Alice wiped a tear from her face.

"And will you?"

"That's the issue, Mycroft. This is when logic fights with emotion. He wanted the world to believe he died a fraud, why? And can we truly assume that Moriarty died on that rooftop? Did you collect the body? It's early June, why was he wearing his coat?” Alice stood up and went into her spare room. A moment later, she returned with a flash drive in her hand. "Here," she handed the drive to Mycroft "This is everything I could find on Moriarty, his underground network, his clients, any information that could be beneficial to you,"

Mycroft placed the flash drive in his coat pocket. "Thank you, Alice,"

*

Sherlock's funeral was a private affair. Mycroft had taken it upon himself to arrange the service. He had informed Alice and John that morning that his parents were grieving at home and would not make the trek to London; leaving only six people in attendance. Lestrade was the only one from Scotland Yard to come. He had mentioned that Anderson had quit his job after finding out about Sherlock's suicide. 

Alice stood in front of Sherlock's grave after the funeral, she needed a moment to collect her thought and say her goodbyes to the man that changed her life. 

"I don't want to believe you're dead. I can't bring myself to believe it. I know you wanted us to tell everyone that you were a fraud, but I can't. I can't let that be your legacy, I refuse to let that be your legacy. There were so many things I wanted to tell you. So many secrets that I have kept hidden to protect myself and you. You were the smartest and the most amazing man I had ever met. John and I owe you so much," She let out a small smile, "I don't know how he's handling all this, he won't tell me anything. I haven't told him yet: that I'm leaving London. I need to get out for a while. I just want you to know if you're still out there somewhere that I love you and that you're the only person that has ever been on the receiving end of those words," Alice wiped a tear from her face and placed a small letter on his grave before heading back to the gate where John was waiting for her.

Sherlock stood under a tree in the distance, watching the love of his life and best friend leave the graveyard. His heart broke hearing Alice's words at his grave. 

"I must admit, your girlfriend was very thorough," Mycroft said as he walked up to his younger brother with the flash drive in his hand. "But then, I'd expect nothing less from her,"

"Alice has always been exceptional," Sherlock said as he walked with Mycroft to the car. "I have no doubt that she will continue being exceptional," He turned back to get one last look at Alice. I will return, Alice, and when I do I will never leave you again.

Chapter Text

***2013***

"Bollocks!" Lestrade exclaimed as Anderson explained another one of his theories outside a mobile coffee stand.

"No, no, no, it's obvious! That's how he did it!"

"Let it go, Sherlock's dead.,"

"Is he?"

"There was a body. It was him, it was definitely him. Molly Hooper laid him out,"

"No, she's lying. It was Jim Moriarty's body with a mask on,"

"A bungee rope, a mask, and Derren Brown?" Lestrade listed all the focal points from Anderson's latest theory. "Are you seriously thinking that Sherlock survived like some action hero? Two years and the theories keep getting more stupid. How many more have you got for me today?"

"Well, what if Alice-"

"Guilt," Lestrade interrupted, looking at Anderson sternly. "That's all this is. You pushed us all into thinking that Sherlock was a fraud; you and Donovan. You did this, and it killed him. Do you honestly believe that if you have enough stupid theories, it's gonna change what happened?" Lestrade took his coffee and started to walk away.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes,"

"Yeah, that won't bring him back,"

*

"After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty. Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion. Sadly, all this comes too late for the detective who became something of a celebrity two years ago. Sherlock fell to his death from the top of London's St. Bart's Hospital..."

Alice turned off the television. She had moved back to D.C. a week after the funeral. John understood her reasoning; citing that she had stayed as long as she did because she was working with them on cases. Her fingers played with the sapphire necklace Sherlock had given her on their first date. Alice couldn't help but smile at the memory.

*

John sat at Mrs. Hudson's kitchen table as she slammed down a tea tray and plate of cookies. 

"Oh no, you don't take it, do you?" Mrs. Hudson asked bitterly, pointy to the sugar bowl. "You forget little things like that,"

"Yes," John nodded in shame.

"You forget lots of little things it seems," She ran her finger between her nose and upper lip. "Not sure about that, it ages you,"

John reached up to touch his moustache. "Just trying it out. Look..."

"I'm not your mother, I have no right to expect it, but just one phone call. Just one phone call would have done. Even Alice tries to keep in touch,"

"I know," 

"After all we went through," Mrs. Hudson sat down at the table. "Look, I understand how difficult it was for you and Alice after...after..."

"I just let it slide, I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone,"

*

"You have been busy, haven't you?" Mycroft asked, sitting at his desk. "Quite the busy little bee,"

"Moriarty's network took me over two years to dismantle it," Sherlock said as he was getting shaved in Mycroft's office.

"And you're confident you have?"

"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle,"

"Yes, you got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme,"

"Colossal,"

"Anyway," Mycroft said, shutting the file "you're safe now. A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss,"

"What for?"

"For wading in. In case you've forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu,"

Sherlock grunted as he sat up, looking at his brother angrily.

"Wading in? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp,"

Mycroft frowned, "I got you out,"

"No, I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"Well, I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I,"

"You were enjoying it," Sherlock glared.

"Listen, do you have any idea what it was like, going undercover? Smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise; the people," Mycroft grimaced.

Sherlock lied back down to allow the barber to finish his work. "I didn't know you spoke Serbian,"

"I didn't, but the language has a Slavic root with Turkish and German loan words," he shrugged "Took me a couple of hours,"

"You're slipping. Alice would have figured it out in 45 minutes,"

"Middle age, brother mine, comes to us all,"

Sherlock quickly changed into a suit and examined himself in the mirror. "What do you think of this shirt?"

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that clear?"

"I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft. Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in- feel every quiver of it's beating heart,"

"One of our men died getting this information," Anthea said. "All the chatter, all the traffic concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London,"

"And what about Alice?"

"Alice?" Mycroft asked confused

"Yes, Alice. Where is she? I thought that you would have had her collect me. As you've made known, fieldwork is not your forte,"

"Alice left England a week after the funeral. She's in D.C now. We talk when necessary,"

"And John Watson?"

"I've kept a closer eye on him than your girlfriend," Mycroft gestured for Anthea to hand Sherlock a file.

Sherlock promptly opened the file and flipped a recent photograph of John with his moustache. "Oh well, he's going to have to lose that,"

"You haven't been in touch at all, to prepare him?"

"No, of course not. You know I couldn't contact either of them while undercover. I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted,"

"You think so?" 

"I'll pop into Baker Street, maybe jump out of a cake,"

"Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. It's been two years, he's got on with his life,"

"What life? I've been away. Where is going to be tonight?" 

"He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint- Emilion, though I prefer the 2001,"

"I think maybe I'll just drop by,"

"You know, it is possible that you won't be welcome,"

"No, it isn't. Now, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"You know what," Sherlock smiled as Anthea appeared with his iconic coat. 

"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes," Anthea smiled as she helped Sherlock into his coat. 

"Thank you... blud,"

*

John stood in the living room of 221b. Nothing had changed since he moved out of the flat two years ago. 

Mrs. Hudson walked in the flat and pulled the curtains on the right-hand window, letting in the light. "I couldn't face letting it out. He never liked me dusting," she walked over to the other window and pulled the other curtains. "How you and Alice kept this place clean, I will never know,"

"It was mainly Alice. Sherlock knew that she would notice anything wrong with the dust. If nothing was out of the ordinary, she would remove the layer of dust,"

"So, why now? I haven't heard from you in almost two years, what changed your mind?"

John took a deep breath. "Well, I've got some news,"

Mrs. Hudson's face immediately filled with horror. "Oh no. Is it serious?"

"What? No- no, I'm not ill. I'm moving on,"

"You're emigrating," Mrs. Hudson said sadly.

"Nope, I've, er... I've met someone,"

Mrs. Hudson couldn't help but giggle with delight as she walked up to him with a huge smile. "Oh, lovely!"

"Yeah, we're getting married... well, I'm gonna ask, anyway,"

 "What's his name?"

John couldn't help but sigh, he should have known that this conversation was coming. "It's a woman,"

"A Woman?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed in surprise. "You really have moved on, haven't you?"

"Mrs. Hudson, how many times?" John began "I am not gay!"

"Has Alice met her?"

"Uh no, actually. I haven't seen her since the Olympics last year," 

"Well, I hope it goes well for you tonight,"

Sherlock walked up to John dressed as a waiter. He had drawn a pencil moustache on his face with eyeliner. 

"Can I help you with anything, sir?" Sherlock asked John in a French accent.

"Hi, yeah. I'm looking for a bottle of champagne- a good one," John said, looking at the menu.

Sherlock leaned closer. "Well, these are all excellent vintages,"

"It's not really my area, what do you suggest?"

Sherlock gestured at the list with his eyeliner pencil. "This last one is a favourite of mine. It is like a face from the past," Sherlock removed his glasses and waited for John to notice him.

"Great, I'll have that one," John said, still not looking at his waiter.

"It is familiar, but with the quality of surprise!" Sherlock gave a grander gesture to John, who handed him the wine list over his shoulder.

"Well, er, surprise me,"

"Certainly endeavouring to, sir," Sherlock said in his normal voice as he walked away.

John took a deep breath as Mary Morstan sat down across from him. "Sorry, that took so long. You okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine," John replied as he swiftly removed the velvet ring box from the table.

Mary smiled. "Now then, what did you want to ask me?"

"More wine?" John asked nervously.

"No, I'm good with water, thanks,"

"Er, so... Mary," John began to speak nervously "I know it hasn't been long. I mean, I know we haven't known each other for a long time,"

"Go on," Mary encouraged.

"As you know, these last couple of years haven't been easy for me; and meeting you, yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened,"

"I agree,"

"What?"

"I agree, I'm the best thing that could have happened to you," 

John laughed. "So, if you'll have me, Mary, could you see your way to..."

"Sir, I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking," Sherlock interrupted, speaking in a French accent again.

Mary shielded her face as she giggled at the awkward moment.

"No, sorry, not now," John said, still looking at Mary.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend," Sherlock took off his glasses again.

"No, look, seriously..." John finally lifted his gaze to meet the waiter's eyes. His smile dropped and he stares at the waiter in disbelief.

"Interesting thing; a tuxedo," Sherlock said, returning to his normal voice, "Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters,"

John turned his head towards Mary, his eyes began to fill with tears as he stumbled to his feet.

"John?" Mary asked, concerned. "John, what is it?"

John looked at Sherlock then back down again, still in shock,"

"Well, short version," Sherlock began nervously. "Not dead,"

John stared at him, his face was full of pain, shock, and anger.

"A bit mean," Sherlock said, feeling a guilty "Springing it onto you like that. I could have given you a heart attack,"

"Oh no, you're..." Mary said, finally realizing who their waiter actually is.

"Oh yes," Sherlock responded.

"Oh, my God,"

"Not quite,"

"You died. You jumped off a roof. You're dead,"

"No, I'm quite sure, I checked. Excuse me," Sherlock picked up a napkin from the table, dipped it into Mary's water, and rubbed off his moustache "Does yours rub off too?"

"Do you have any idea what you've done to him?" Mary asked angrily. "John?"

Sherlock looked down nervously "John, I am suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology,"

John clenched his fist and slammed it down onto the table. "Two years. I thought... we thought you were dead. How could you do that?" Sherlock looked at him, ashamed. "You let Mrs. Hudson grieve, you let me grieve, you let Alice grieve. Yet here you are!" John's voice began to fill with anger once again. 

Sherlock stopped him and gestured to his top lip."Wait, before you do anything you might regret, are you gonna keep that?"

John took one more deep breath before hurling himself at Sherlock and forcing him to the ground.

Sherlock sat across from John and Mary in a cafe. The three of them were forced out of the restaurant after Sherlock and John's brawl.

"I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I'd invited Moriarty onto the roof,"  Granted, I did not expect Alice to be there either. I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario-"

"-You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably thick," John interrupted, both his and Mary's arms were folded across their chests.

"What?"

"I don't care how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why,"

"Because Moriarty needed to be stopped. Oh, 'why' as in..." Sherlock paused, noticing John's expression. "I see. That's a little more difficult to explain,"

"I've got all night,"

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down, ashamed. "Actually, that was mostly Mycroft's idea,"

"Oh, so it's your brother's plan?"

"He would have needed a confidant," Mary said, pointing towards Sherlock, who merely nodded in agreement. Seeing John's unenthused face, she put down her finger. "Sorry," 

"But he was the only one, right?"

Sherlock lowered his head once more. "There were a couple of others. It was an elaborated plan-"

"-Who else knew?" John asked in an anguished whisper.

"Molly Hooper and some of my homeless network,"

"Okay," John sat up a little more. "So just your brother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps,"

"No! Twenty-five at most,"

John hurled himself across the table and attacked his old friend once more.

Sherlock held a paper napkin to a cut on his lower lip. They were forced to relocate to a kebab shop. The three leaned against a counter; John, refusing to look Sherlock in the eye.

"Seriously, it's not a joke?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to his top lip "You're really keeping this?"

"Yeah," John replied, shortly.

"You sure?"

"Mary likes it,"

"No, she doesn't,"

John glanced at Mary who began to apologize. "I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you,"

"Oh, I've missed this," John pointed angrily at Sherlock. "One word, Sherlock. One word to Alice or to me to let us know that you were alive. That's all we would have needed,"

"I've nearly been in contact with you so many times, but I worried that you might say something indiscreet,"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag,"

"Oh, so this is my fault?" John stepped closer to the detective. "Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong; the only one reacting like a human being,"

"You're overreacting,"

"Overreacting? So, you fake your own death and waltz in here, but I'm not supposed to have a problem with that because Sherlock Holmes thinks it's a perfectly okay thing to do!"

"Shut up, John. I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive!" Sherlock shouted.

"Oh, so it's still a secret?"

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" Sherlock asked casually.

"Swear to God!" John angrily exclaimed. Finally, he looked around and backed down.

"London is in danger, John," Sherlock said at a low volume. "There's a terrorist attack and I need your help,"

"My help?"

"You have missed this, admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, the three of us against the world..."

John grabbed the lapels of his shirt and proceeded to attack Sherlock once more.

Sherlock held a napkin under his bleeding nose outside the kebab shop. "I don't understand, I said 'I'm sorry'. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

Mary, who stood beside him, shook her head in amazement. "Gosh, you don't know anything about human nature, do you?"

"I'm learning,"

"I'll talk him round,"

Sherlock lowered his head and looked at her curiously. "You will?"

"Oh yeah," She smiled confidently.

Sherlock looked at Mary closely. Only child, linguist, clever, part-time nurse, Secret tattoo, Liar. He took a step back after his recent deduction.

"Mary," John called from a few steps away, having successfully hailed a taxi. Mary gave Sherlock one last smile and walked over to John.

"Can you believe the nerve?" John asked his fiance as they entered the cab.

"I like him," Mary smiled as the two rode off. 

"I'm sorry, what?"

Mary shrugged, "I like him,"

John turned his head to look out the cab window, absolutely bewildered at the gall of his best friend and his fiancee's statement on said best friend.

Sherlock watched as John and Mary rode into the distance. He thought about John's reaction. Would Alice react the same way? Would she be more violent in her reaction? Or would she understand why he left, why he had to disappear?

*

Greg Lestrade walked across an underground parking lot. After rummaging through his pockets, he took out a cigarette from the pack and stuck it into his mouth.

"Those things'll kill you," Sherlock said from the shadows as Lestrade flicked his lighter.

Lestrade looked up in realization and removed the cigarette from his mouth. "Ooh, you bastard,"

Sherlock walked out of the shadows, towards the Detective Inspector. "It's time to come back. You've been letting things slide, Graham,"

"Greg!" Lestrade corrected.

"Greg,"

Lestrade stared at Sherlock for a while before wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. Sherlock groaned from the pain of his injuries from Serbia but smiled at Lestrade. 

Chapter Text

"Are you out of your mind?" Anderson exclaimed as he heard another theory from one of his club members. It was another meeting of 'The Empty Hearse', a club he started for those who also believed Sherlock faked his death. The walls of the room were covered with Post-it notes; pieces of red string connected papers and photographs; there was even a world map with pins in the Himalayas, New Dehli, and Hamburg. 

"I don't see why not. It's just as plausible as your theories,"

"Look, if you're not going to take it seriously, Laura, you can get out. I have knowledge that Sherlock was in a happy relationship when he fell,"

"I do take it seriously," Laura looked around at the others in the room. Six other people were squeezed onto the furniture with four of them wearing deerstalkers. "I don't think we should wear hats,"

"I founded 'The Empty Hearse' so like-minded people could meet and discuss theories. Sherlock's still out there, I'm convinced of it,"

Laura's eyes drifted to the news on the TV behind Anderson. The headline at the bottom read Hat Detective Alive

"Oh my God!" Laura exclaimed as she held up her phone. Everyone's phone began to beep, signaling text alerts and notifications.

"What time is it?" Philip asked the group.

"It's 12:45," a member called out as they scrolled through their Twitter feed.

"So she should be up," Anderson mumbled to himself. "I need to go and make an important call," He announced as he left the room.

*

"London. It's like a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents, and drifters are irresistibly drained. It's not a question of 'who?'; it is a question of 'who knows?'. There are certain people- markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up," 

"That's all very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical," Mycroft said as Sherlock sat back into his chair.

"Boring, your move," Sherlock said, looking down at the game on the table between them.

"We have solid information that and attack is coming," Mycroft glanced down at the game between them.

"Solid information. A secret terrorist organization's planning an attack. That's what secret organizations do. Surely you don't need my expertise for that,"

"An agent gave his life to tell us that,"

"Perhaps he shouldn't have, he obviously was trying to show off,"

Mycroft held back a sigh. "None of these markers of yours is behaving suspiciously?" He glanced down again. "Your move,"

"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I'll find the answer. It'll be an odd phrase in an online blog or an unexpected trip to the countryside. Your move,"

"I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you're on the case,"

"I am on the case, we both are, look at us,"

A loud buzz came from the game on the table between them. 

"Oh, bugger," Mycroft angrily dropped the small tweezers from their game of Operation.

"Can't handle a broken heart- how telling" Sherlock teased.

"Don't be smart,"

"That takes me back. 'Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one'," Sherlock said in a childish voice.

"I am the smart one,"

"I used to think I was an idiot," Sherlock reflected.

Mycroft nestled back in John's chair and smirked. "Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, 'til we met other children,"

"Oh yes, that was a mistake,"

"Ghastly. What were they thinking of?"

"Probably something about making friends,"

"Oh yes, friends," Mycroft smiled, not fully understanding the word. "Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now,"

Sherlock eyed his brother closely. "And you don't, ever?"

"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish?"

"Yes, but I've been away for two years,"

"So?"

"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a goldfish,"

"Change the subject, now," Mycroft grimaced, uncomfortable with their current discussion.

"What about Alice? Would you have pursued her if I hadn't?"

"Pardon?"

"I have no issue in saying that Alice is smarter than me and I can easily list all the times she has amazed you,"

"Go on," Mycroft gestured.

"You told me that when you first met, she noticed your umbrella and that we were brothers. Then, there was John's night on Sarah's sofa- not the lilo; everything that happened in Buckingham Palace and with Irene Adler. Not to mention how fast she solved the airline code,"

"Yes, she informed me about Irene's intentions at the same time you solved it,"

"And Baskerville,"

"Alice was not happy when I called her that morning. She yelled at me for ten minutes before agreeing to fly back," Mycroft's eyes were wide, reliving that memory. "She can get very angry,"

"And she gave you the flash drive on Moriarty and his network,"

"That was very helpful. It cut our work in half,"

"Her skills in cybersecurity are amazing,"

"I agree,"

"So would you? Would you have pursued Alice if I was out of the picture?"

"No," Mycroft looked at his younger brother. "Alice and I have an understanding with each other, we are simply good friends,"

Sherlock smiled, not completely believing his brother, and walked over to his fireplace. "Rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre,"

Mycroft felt his phone buzz and promptly pulled it out of his pocket. "Speaking of which, I need to leave,"

*

Sherlock was busy looking at his crime map on the wall.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson said as she walked into the living room. "Talk to John,"

"I tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear,"

*

In his surgery, John held his hand up in front of him with his middle finger pointing up. He pulled the medical glove down tight with his other hand. 

"Just relax, Mr. Summerson," he said as he walked to his patient.

*

"What did he say?" Mrs. Hudson asked, curious.

"Fuc..."

*

"Cough," 

*

Over the course of the day, Sherlock and Molly began to solve crimes while John worked and saw patients. Sherlock could hear John's sarcastic comments in his head with every deduction he made.

Sherlock pushed the doorbell to a flat. Instead of the traditional ring or buzz, it played the standard "Mind the Gap" from the underground. Sherlock held out a bobble hat to the young man who answered the door.

"Thanks for holding on to it," the young man said as he gestured for Sherlock and Molly to enter.

"So what's this all about, Mr. Shilcott?" Sherlock asked as they entered a room covered in train memorabilia.

"I like trains," Shilcott said. "I work on the Tube, on the District line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it's been cleared," He sat down at his computer. "I was just whizzing through and I found something bizarre," Shilcott turned to his laptop and pulled up the security footage. "Now, this was a week ago. The last train on a Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car,"

The footage showed a single man with a briefcase on the platform getting into the last car.

"Car?" Molly repeated, confused.

"They're cars, not carriages. It's a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system,"

Molly looked over at Sherlock, who shrugged.

"And the next stop, St. James's Park station,"

The footage showed the doors of the empty last car.

"Thought you'd like it. He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger, and the car is empty at St. James's Park. Explain that, Mr. Holmes,"

"Couldn't he have jumped off?" Molly asked the train enthusiast.

Shilcott shook his head. "There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit. But there's something else: the driver of that train hasn't been to work since. His flatmate said he came into some money and is on holiday,"

"So, if the driver of the train was on it, then the passenger did get off,"

"There's nowhere he could go. It's a straight run on the District line between the two stations. There's nothing on any map,"

"I know that face," Sherlock said.

Sherlock and Molly exited Shilcott's flat. "Sherlock?" Molly asked, stopping him at the bottom of the stairs. "What was today about?"

"Saying thank you,"

"For what?"

"Everything you did for me," Sherlock stepped closer to her. "Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake. Because the one person he thought didn't matter at all to me was the ones who mattered the most. You made it all possible," He drew in a deep breath. "But you can't do this again, can you?"

Molly smiled, ashamed "I had a lovely day. I'd love to..." 

"Oh, congratulations, by the way," Sherlock said, noticing her diamond engagement ring.

"He's not from work. We met through friends, the old fashioned way. He's nice, we go to the pub on weekends, I don't know why I'm telling you this,"

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it," Sherlock leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"You too, with Alice,"

Chapter Text

It was a text that alerted Mary Morstan. A text from an anonymous sender. 

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson," Mary said to the landlady who had opened the front door. Mary gently pushed her way in and started to walk up the stairs to 221b. "Sorry, I think someone's got John,"

"Hang on, who are you?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Oh, I'm his fiancée," Mary replied, earning a smile from Mrs. Hudson.

"Mary? What's wrong?" Sherlock asked from the landing, take away in his hand.

Mary took out her phone from her pocket and showed the text to Sherlock. "Someone sent me this. At first, I thought it was just spam, but it's not. It's a skip-code,"

Sherlock looked at Mary closely for a second before turning his attention back to the phone.

Save souls now!

John or James Watson?

"First word, then every third," Mary explained.

Saint or Sinner?

James or John?

The more is Less?

"Save John Watson, Saint James the Less," she continued.

Sherlock dropped his bag of chips to the ground and raced down the stairs and onto the street with Mary following shortly after. "We have to go, now!"

"Where are we going?"

"St. James the Less. It's a church. Twenty minutes by car," 

"Did you drive here?"

"Yes,"

He began to pace in the middle of the road. "It's too slow," 

"Sherlock, what are we waiting for?"

Sherlock looked up at the sight of an approaching motorcycle. "This,"

As the two sped through central London on the motorcycle, Mary's phone rang again.

Getting Warmer Mr. Holmes

You have about ten minutes

What a shame

Mr. Holmes.

John is quite a Guy

"What does it mean? What are they going to do to him?" Mary asked as she held the phone over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Oh my God" Sherlock exclaimed as he accelerated the bike towards the bonfire in the park. "Jump off," He instructed.

Mary quickly hopped off the bike as he dropped it onto its side. Sherlock removed his helmet and raced to the fire, shoving onlookers out of the way. Mary followed him, screaming for her fiance. Sherlock crouched down and peered through the flames while also throwing some wood aside.

"Help!" John yelled out, finally able to find his voice.

Hearing John's voice, Sherlock and Mary began to remove pieces of wood to create a path until they were able to see John's body. Sherlock reached in and pulled the doctor out as the crowd watched in horror. John lied on the ground beside Sherlock and Mary, groaning.

*

Sherlock sat in his armchair, annoyed as he listened to the elderly couple on his sofa.

"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?" The woman asked her husband.

"'Fraid so," Her husband agreed.

"Keys, small change, sweets. Especially his glasses,"

"Glasses,"

"Blooming things. I said, 'why don't you get a chain- wear 'em around your neck' and says..."

"Like Larry Grayson?" The couple said at the same time.

Sherlock forced himself out of his armchair and walked over to the couple. "So, did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?"

"Well, yes, thank goodness," The old woman said as Sherlock stood in between the two on the sofa. "We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see St. Paul's, the Tower, but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament," Sherlock looked at the woman with a frown. "Some big debate was going on,"

The door to the flat opened and John walked in. 

"John," Sherlock greeted his former flatmate.

"Sorry, you're busy," John said, waving to the couple on the sofa.

Sherlock immediately jumped off the sofa and pulled the old woman onto her feet. "No, no, no, they were just leaving,"

"No, if you've got a case," John interjected.

"Not a case," Sherlock said as he pushed the couple towards the door. "Go, bye!"

"We're here 'til Saturday, remember," The woman said as she stopped the door from closing with her foot. "I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you,"

Sherlock glanced at John awkwardly.

"We're just so pleased it's all over," The woman continued.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" The man added. "She worries. Promise?"

"Promise," Sherlock whispered before successfully slamming the door. "Sorry about that," Sherlock apologized to John as he leaned against the door.

" No, it's fine," John said as he stood by the window. "Clients?"

Sherlock hesitated, "... Just my parents,"

John had a surprised look on his face at the new revelation. "Your parents?"

"In town for a few days,"

"Your parents?"

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of Les Mis. He tried to talk me into doing it," Sherlock gave a grim smile, disgusted by the mere thought of it. 

"Those were your parents?" John repeated as he looked out the window to watch the old couple leave. "Well, that's not what I... I mean they're just so ordinary,"

"It's a cross I have to bear,"

John chuckled. "Did they know, too? That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek?"

"Maybe," Sherlock muttered as he avoided meeting John's eyes.

"Ah!" John sighed. "So that's why they weren't at the funeral. I'm starting to believe that only Alice and I were out of the loop,"

Sherlock lowered his head in shame. "Sorry," He let john take a breath of frustration before pointing to his upper lip. "I see you've shaved it off, then,"

"Yeah, it wasn't working for me,"

"I'm glad," Sherlock smiled. "I prefer my doctors clean-shaven,"

John laughed and sat down in his armchair, grunting a little. "That's not a sentence you hear every day,"

"How are you feeling?"

"Not bad. Bit- smoked," John looked at Sherlock seriously. "Last night- who did that? And why did they target me?"

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted, his eyes turned to his crime map on the wall.

"Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know. I can't see the pattern," Sherlock murmured. "It's too nebulous," he walked towards the wall. "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant?"

"Give his life?"

"According to Mycroft, there's an underground network planning an attack on London," Sherlock gestured to the photographs and papers on the wall. "These are my markers: agents, low-lives, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving normally, but the sixth..." he pointed to the photo. "Lord Moran, peer of the realm. Minister for Overseas Development, pillar of the establishment. He's been working for North Korea since 1996,"

"What?"

"He's the big rat, rat number one. And he's done something very suspicious indeed,"

Chapter Text

"Yeah, that's odd," John acknowledged as he watched the security footage at the table. "There's nowhere he could have got off?"

"Not according to the maps," Sherlock muttered. "There's something I'm missing. Something staring at me in the face,"

"Any idea who they are: this underground network? Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones,"

"Our rat's come out of the den," Sherlock looked at a sequence of photos taken of Lord Moran walking along the road next to the Houses of Parliament, indicating he had just come out of Westminster Tube station. "Yes!" He shouted triumphantly. "I've been an idiot, a blind idiot!"

"What?"

"It's specific- incredibly specific,"

"What do you mean?"

"It's not an underground network, John. It's an Underground Network! It was staring at us in the face!" 

"Right... what?"

Sherlock leaned over John's shoulder to replay the footage of Lord Moran getting into the train at Westminster. "Look, seven cars leave Westminster, but only six arrive at St. James's Park,"

"But that's impossible," John said as he replayed the footage.

"Moran didn't disappear, the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and detached the last car,"

"Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations,"

"Not on the maps, but when you have excluded the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Sherlock pointed to the screen. "That car vanished, so it must be somewhere,"

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

Sherlock began to pace. "It vanishes between St. James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You're kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks part-" Sher turned to John in realization. "What's the date, John?"

"Hmm? November the... my God,"

Sherlock walked over to his crime map, piecing everything together. "Lord Moran, he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight, there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill but he won't be there. Not tonight, not the fifth of November," Sherlock turned around and faced John.

"Remember, remember," John repeated the first part of the ever famous poem.

"The gunpowder treason and plot,"

"There's nothing here, Mr. Holmes," Howard Shilcott said on Skype as the boys searched through the maps and papers on the table. "I told you, no sidings, no ghost stations,"

"There has to be, check again," Sherlock looked at an old map. "St. Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street..."

"Hang on," Shilcott said, leaning offscreen. "You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr. Holmes. There is something. There was a station down there,"

"Why isn't it on the maps?" John asked.

"It closed before it ever opened," Shilcott held up a book for them to see. "They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes. They never built the station on the surface.

Sherlock grinned. "It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster,"

"So what's down there, a bomb?" John asked. Sherlock didn't reply and headed for the door. "Oh..." John quickly got up, grabbed his coat, and followed the detective out of the flat.

*

The pair walked briskly along the road next to the Houses of Parliament and down the stairs into Westminster station.

"So, it's a bomb then?" John asked "A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb,"

"Must be,"

 John took his phone out of his pocket. "Right,"

"What are you doing?"

"Calling the police,"

"What? No!"

John sighed. "Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament,"

"They'll get in the way, they always do. This is cleaner and more efficient," They stopped at a locked maintenance entrance. Sherlock reached into his coat and took out a crowbar, forcing the gate to open.

"And illegal," John commented.

Sherlock opened the door and stepped through, John followed and slammed the gate behind them. They each took out their flashlights and started to walk down the narrow maintenance tunnels, finally reaching the Sumatra Road platform.

"I don't understand," Sherlock said, looking around for the sole car. "There's nowhere else it could be,"

Sherlock closed his eyes and entered his Mind Palace. He's in the abandoned Tube car as it blows up. The images changes to the tunnel about a hundred yards away from the front of the carriage. The inferno is sucked up through a vent in the tunnel's roof. The heated gas forces its way into the Houses of Parliament, blowing it up.

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed as his eyes snapped open. He started to run towards the end of the platform and carefully jumped onto the tracks.

"Hang on," John said, following him. "Isn't it live?"

"Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails,"

"Of course. Avoid the rails, great," John sarcastically said as he jumped onto the track and followed his best friend.

They didn't have to walk far to find the missing train carriage.

"John," Sherlock said as he pointed to the large vent in the roof with his flashlight. They both shine their lights upwards and find several small explosives on the sides of the vent. They closely checked all sides of the carriage before stepping inside.

"This is the bomb," Sherlock said from inside the carriage, exposing the wires underneath a seat cushion. John checked the other cushions while Sherlock examined the larger bomb that was hidden under the floor.

"We need bomb disposal," John declared.

"There may not be enough time for that now,"

"So, what do we do?"

Sherlock paused. "I have no idea,"

"Well, think of something."

"Why do you think I know what to do?"

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets,"

"Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb,"

Suddenly, all the train lights come on and the countdown clock begins to tick down.

2:15

"So, you can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police," John said, angrily. "Why do you never call the police?"

"Go, John,"

"There's no point now. Because there's not enough time to get away. And if we don't do this..." John gestured down to the large bomb between them "...other people will die!"

1:57

"Mind Palace," John said as he pointed to Sherlock. "Use your Mind Palace,"

"How will that help?"

"You've salted away every fact under the sun. Alice must've explained how to diffuse a bomb in passing,"

Sherlock thought about it for a second and shrugged. "Maybe," He closed his eyes and entered his Mind Palace.

1:29

Sherlock slowly lifted his head. "I'm sorry, I can't do it, John," he admitted. "I don't know how. Forgive me?"

"What?"

"Please John, forgive me... for all the hurt that I caused you,"

John began to chuckle in denial. "No, this is a trick, another one of your bloody tricks. You're just trying to make me say something nice," He turned away for a second "I wanted you to not be dead. You were the best and wisest man that I have ever known. Yes, of course, I forgive you,"

The two look at each other, preparing for death. After a minute Sherlock began to giggle. John frowned and looked down at the bomb whose countdown was flicking back and forth between 1:29 and 1:28.

"You..." John began to yell in disbelief and anger.

"Your face," Sherlock laughed, pointing at his friend.

"...utter..."

"Your face," Sherlock continued to laugh as he stood up.

"You cock! I knew it,"

"Oh, those things you said- such sweet things. I- I never knew you cared," Sherlock grinned.

John glared at him. "I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone. You KNEW!"

Sherlock squatted down to the bomb. "There's an OFF switch, there's always an OFF switch. Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an OFF switch," He said as he stood back up.

"So why did you let me go through all that?"

"I didn't lie altogether. I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these lights off. Nor do I know how to apologise,"

Through the open door, they could hear police approaching them.

"And you did call the police,"

"Of course I called the police,"

"I'm definitely going to kill you,"

"Oh please, killing me? That's so two years ago," Sherlock quirked a smile at John, who let out a laugh.

Chapter Text

John approached Sherlock's bedroom door "Come on. You'll have to go down, they want the story," referring to the group of photographers and reporters outside the front door.

Sherlock walked past him and rolled his eyes. "In a minute,"

The two joined the rest of the group in the living room. Mary sat on the sofa with Mrs. Hudson, while Lestrade sat in John's armchair holding a glass of champagne.

"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary," Mrs. Hudson said as they drank their champagne. "Have you set a date?"

"Er, well, we thought May," Mary replied, smiling.

"Oh, a spring wedding!" Mrs. Hudson cheered.

"Yeah, well, once we've actually got engaged. We were interrupted last time," Mary smiled and looked at Sherlock. "You will be there, Sherlock,”

Sherlock walked to the window. "Hmm, weddings- not really my thing," He turned around and smiled at the happy couple.

"Hello, everyone," Molly said as she entered that flat. She gestured to the man accompanying her. "This is Tom. Tom, this is everyone," Tom could have been easily mistaken as Sherlock from a distance with his curly brown hair, prominent cheekbones, and Belstaff coat.

John looked at Tom up and down. "Wow, yeah, I'm John. Good to meet you,"

"Ready?" Sherlock asked, turning away from the window. 

"Ready," 

Tom turned to meet Sherlock, who gave him a once-over before heading out of the flat.

"Did you, er...?" John began to ask as they approached the front door.

"I'm not saying a word,"

"No, best not," John agreed. "I'm still waiting,"

"Hmm?"

"Why did they try and kill me? If they knew you were on to them, why go after me? Why put me in there?"

Sherlock put on his coat and tied his scarf in his signature style. "I don't know. I don't like not knowing. Unlike the embellished stories on your blog, real life is rarely so neat. I don't know who was behind all this, but I will find out,"

John smirked. "Don't pretend you're not enjoying all this,"

Sherlock turned around, confused. "Hmm?"

"Being back. Being a hero again. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it,"

"Love what?"

"Being Sherlock Holmes,"

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," Sherlock responded as he put on his gloves.

"Are you ever gonna tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?"

"You know my methods, John. I am known to be indestructible,"

"No, but seriously, when you were dead, I went to your grave. I asked you to stop being dead,"

Sherlock turned around to look at John. "I heard you," They looked at each other for another second, then Sherlock took a deep breath and reached for the deerstalker on its peg. "Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes," he said as he put on the hat.

After about half an hour of interviews, questions, and photographs, a majority of the press had left with their stories and equipment. Sherlock and John looked at each other, agreeing to go back inside and rejoin the celebration in their flat when Mycroft's car pulled up. Sherlock let out a groan upon seeing his brother's familiar towncar but changed his face once he saw who was exiting the vehicle. Alice smiled as she got out of the car. Sherlock could barely contain his excitement as he walked up to hug her tightly. 

"I've missed you so much!" 

"I've missed you too,” Alice said smiling before pulling giving Sherlock the death stare “But don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again. And John," She turned to John and pulled him in for a hug, "thank God you got rid of the mustache. I didn't want to say anything about it last year but-"

"It was a one-time thing," John said, holding up his hands in surrender before motioning to Sherlock. "You don't seem so surprised about this,"

"Oh trust me, I yelled at Mycroft once I found out,”

John and Sherlock looked at each other nervously, both still slightly scared to feel her wrath.

"Was Mycroft the first one to tell you?" John asked, still nervous.

"No, Anderson," Alice said flatly before turning to Sherlock, hitting him in the chest with the back of her hand. "I'm still mad at you,"

"I know,"

"But I understand why you had to do it. I just wish you could've told me, instead of Philip,"

"I'm sorry," Sherlock apologised as he held her hand.

Alice couldn't help but sigh in understanding."I know. I would go to the end of the Earth for you too," Alice, Sherlock and John each took a suitcase out of the car and placed it in the hallway by the front door before joining the party in 221b.

"Hi, everyone," Alice said as she walked into 221b. "Sorry, I'm late,"

"Alice!" Molly jumped up, excited to see the American. "It's so good to see you! How was your flight?"

"Six hours is still six hours, whether you're on a private jet or in coach," Alice laughed as the two women hugged. 

"Alice," John gently tapped on her shoulder, Mary at his side, "I would like you to meet my fiancee,"

The smile on Alice's face dropped the second she turned to face John and his fiancee. "Ro-"

"-Mary," Mary said, holding out her hand with a smile. "It's lovely to finally meet you, Alice. John's told me nothing but good things,"

Alice let out the breath that was caught in her lungs and shook Mary's hand. "It's good to meet you too, Mary," The two women smiled at each other for a few seconds before being interrupted by their favourite landlady.

"Oh, Alice," Mrs. Hudson cried as she walked up. "We weren't expecting you until after Christmas,"

"I just couldn't stay away from London for that long," Alice said, looking at Sherlock and smiling. "Especially now. Would it be alright to have my old flat back? If you have a new tenant then I don't mind-"

"Nonsensense!" Mrs.Hudson said with a cheerful smile. "Of course you can have your old flat back. To think in just a week I've gotten my two favourite lodgers back after being gone for two years,"

"I'm right here," John joked. 

"So, did he tell you that he was alive two years ago, or did you find it out the other day too? Lestrade asked as he handed Alice a glass of champagne.

"Philip called me when the news broke out three days ago. Not my ideal way of finding out. What about you?"

"He surprised me in the car park after work. I'm more disappointed in myself. How did I not see this coming?"

"It's Sherlock, Greg. Not even I can calculate his every move,"

"But you've come the closest," Lestrade raised his glass in a toast to her. "So you're officially moving back to London?" 

Alice looked over at Sherlock and John conversing with each other before turning back to Lestrade with a bright smile. 

Chapter Text

"Why do we have to do this?" Sherlock asked his girlfriend as they posed for a picture together on the sofa.

"Because it looks nice," Mary responded as she handed Alice back her phone.

"Just be happy I didn't make you put on the antlers this year," Alice muttered as she looked at the photos.

It was Christmastime once again at Baker Street and presents sat under the small tree in the corner by Sherlock's violin. Alice had already strung lights around the flat that she and Sherlock now shared; The pair were once again hosting another little party for the holiday. It was smaller than the last party three years ago, with was just John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson in attendance. Alice had also invited Mycroft but he declined her offer.

Alice stood up from the couch and clapped her hands. "Right, I think it is the right time for presents," She handed Mrs. Hudson a perfectly wrapped gift. "This one is from the boys,"

Mrs. Hudson thanked Sherlock and John before opening the box. Inside was a new laptop. "You'll have to show me how to use it,"
 Alice gifted her a set of teacups and saucers that paired well with her current sets.

"John, these ones are for you and Mary," Alice said as she handed them each a box. "It's from Sherlock and me,"

"You didn't have to get us anything," John replied while Mary smiled at the unwrapped handmade hats.

"Did you make these?" Mary asked as she tried a hat on.

"I learned how to knit and crochet as a kid when my bother wanted to dress up his turtle,"

"You just keep surprising us, don't you?" John joked.

"I try," She replied with an amused smile.

"Alright, Sherlock," Mary said as she handed Sherlock the gifts she and John had picked out for him.

Sherlock opened the box, finding a small container of gold rosin for his violin bow and a book on astronomy. John laughed a bit when Sherlock frowned at the astronomy book.

"Thank you," Sherlock said to the couple. Alice had gifted him a 'Science Only' microwave for their kitchen earlier that morning, though that was more a gift to herself.

Mrs. Hudson gave Alice a new cookbook full of her favourite traditional British recipes while John and Mary gave her a new leather notebook for upcoming cases.

Sherlock paced in front of Alice nervously once it was his turn to give her his present. "Alice, I know that these past two years were hard for you, but I want you to know that I will never leave you like that ever again. It took me too long to realize how much I cared for you. Love is something that I never imagined possible and I am positive most people who have met me would say the same,"

"I can attest to that," John mumbled, thinking about Donovan, nearly everyone at Scotland Yard, and even himself at one point in time.

"But then you walked into my life and every day I fall in love with you more and more. You make me vulnerable, something I never thought I would be okay with and I can't think of anywhere more perfect than right in front of the most important people in our lives," Everyone gasped when they saw him get down on one knee. Sherlock reached into his suit pocket and opened a small velvet box, revealing a simple-yet-elegant- diamond engagement ring. "Alice Whitmer, will you marry me?"

Tears began to fall out of Alice's eyes as she nodded. "Yes. Yes," she cried in joy as Sherlock placed the ring on her finger. He proceeded to pick her up and swing her around in a circle. The two kissed as he placed her back on the ground.

"Oh, Alice!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed with glee as she and Mary examined the ring. "It's beautiful,"

"Congratulations mate," John said as he patted Sherlock on the back. "Lestrade will be surprised,"

"Imagine Donovan's face,"

*

The next day, Alice was summoned by Mycroft at his mansion. Like always, she brought a plateful of baked goods. 

"Alice, I would like to apologise for not able to attend your party last night," Mycroft said as he poured her a cup of tea.

"Don't worry about it, Mycroft. I wasn't expecting you to accept the invitation. I know that you don't like social functions," Alice gave him a sincere smile.

"I wanted to give you this," Mycroft handed her a present. "Happy Christmas,"

"You didn't have to get me anything," Alice gently unwrapped the gift, revealing first edition copies of 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame' and 'Frankenstein'. She smiled and made eye contact with him. "Thank you, Mycroft. Seriously, thank you,"

"I believe congratulations are also in order. I can't imagine the conversation he had with our mother in order to procure the family ring," Mycroft said, looking down at the ring on her finger,  "Sherlock is very lucky to have you in his life," 

Alice delicately rewrapped the books in order for them to not get damaged. "He is lucky to have you as well. Even though he doesn't always believe it, you are a good brother to him,"

"Now, to the matter at hand," Mycroft folded his hands. "Since you are back in the country, I am in need of your talents,"

"You, or the British Government?"

Mycroft ignored her question. "I don't want my brother to be involved with this," he handed her a manila folder, "This is Charles Augustus Magnussen," 

Alice frowned as she opened the file to the photo of Magnussen. "Owner of the CAM Network, media mogul, and billionaire. He's not as big in the U.S. as he is here in the UK," she paused and thought about where she had last heard his name, "Wasn't he summoned before the Parliamentary Committee a month ago?"

"Yes,"

"Why was he called in?"

Mycroft sighed. "We believe Magnussen might be trying to blackmail some of our MPs,"

"Why don't you want to involve Sherlock? I would assume that he is being viewed as trustworthy after foiling Lord Moran's plot last month"

Mycroft paused for a moment, unsure of how to relay the next bit of information, "On a personal level, I believe he is aware of your prior jobs. Specifically, your most recent work,"

She could tell by his tone of voice that he was nervous about Magnussen and the information he held. Mycroft rarely showed his cards, but for some reason, he was willing to be vulnerable around Alice.

Alice looked straight into Mycroft's eyes, she knew what he was saying. "He can't know, I've been careful. I thought I was careful enough. I've done my best to stay out of the photos, only helped Sherlock and John when they needed me, and I trust that you've kept my work with you under a need-to-know basis,"

"Only the higher members of the US and British Government could know and even then, they would require special permission. But I must ask, both as a government official and as a future brother, does Sherlock know about you?"

She looked down in shame. "I never really had the chance. To be honest, I never wanted to tell him. I wanted a fresh start in life, I guess I don't deserve one- not after everything that happened," She fought back a tear before looking up a Mycroft with determination in her eyes. "I will do whatever it takes to get rid of Magnussen. If you want me to break off the engagement, I will. I can't let Sherlock go down with me. John can lose me, but he can't lose Sherlock. You and I both know that,"

Alice sat in the black car on her way back to 221b, thinking about her meeting with Mycroft. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she had a feeling that he too, would break in the event of losing Sherlock. John had Mary to help him cope with whatever the future threw at him. Mycroft had no one.

Chapter Text

Alice was surprised to find Sherlock and John sitting with a client in the living room. Few clients had shown up to the flat in person since Sherlock's return was still considered relatively recent.

"Alice, please meet Hilton Cubitt of Norfolk," Sherlock introduced, pointing to the client sitting in the middle of the room. "He's just married an American who has had some disagreeable associations,"

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cubitt. What's troubling you?"

"It's my wife, Elsie. I'll start at the beginning. I came to London in 2012 in celebration of the Queen's Jubilee. It was then I met Elsie- Elsie Patrick. Through some miracle, we became good friends and after a month we returned to Norfolk a newly married couple. We've been married for a year now and have been nothing but happy, but a month ago my wife received a letter," Hilton said as he handed Sherlock a slip of paper with the image of a sequence of stick figures.

"How many of these messages has she received?"

"I don't know. She received the first one a month ago from America- I recognised the postage. Her face turned pale and she threw it into the fire after reading it. About a week ago I found a number of these little figures drawn on the window sill with chalk. Naturally, I washed it off and told my wife about it later that day at dinner. She then begged me to let her see them if I found any more. Yesterday, I found this paper on our sundial in the garden. When I showed it to Elsie, she nearly fainted. Since then, her eyes have been filled with terror,"

"Forgive me, Mr. Cubitt," John interrupted, "But wouldn't it be easier if you asked your wife about these messages?"

Hilton shook his head. "When we got married she said that she had disagreeable associations in her life and that she wanted to forget about them. I promised my wife to never ask about her past, I intend to keep that promise,"

"It's very noble of you to do so," Alice complimented.

"Has there been any talk of interesting strangers in your neighbourhood?" Sherlock questioned.

"We get tourists all the time, naturally an odd one or two will pop up,"

"It's a code," Alice observed, taking a photo of the letter on her phone. "Were there more, other than this one and the two from before?"

"Not to my knowledge,"

"Go back to Norfolk and if there are more send us images of each message in the order they were sent," Alice said as she handed the letter back to Hilton. "If there are any in your house, these images, send us a photo of them as well. Sherlock and John's emails are on the blog," 

Hilton Cubitt nodded and left the flat, thanking them or taking his case.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked from his armchair as Alice came back into his flat with her laptop.

"It's a message, obviously," Alice said as she began to type. "John?"

"Yes?"

"How far is Norfolk from here?"

"I'd say about two hours drive,"

"Great! Start packing your things boys, we need to be prepared to leave as soon as possible,"

"What?" Both men asked at the same time.

"Remember the case with the Chinese circus? The same type of message,"

"So it's like the book code?" John asked, thinking back to the Blind Banker Case.

"No, but it is a warning for death. My best guess is that it's a substitution cipher. I will need to see more of the messages before I can confirm anything,"

***

Within a week of Hilton Cubitt's initial visit to 221b Baker street, the trio received more photographs of the dancing men. Sherlock and Alice decided that they had enough evidence to dive further into their investigation.

The trio arrived in the town of Ridling in the early afternoon. Hilton was eager to meet them at his house and hastily brought them into his sitting room. Sherlock sat across from Hilton while Alice and John sat on the sofa in between the two armchairs. 

"I've seen him!" Hilton blurted out. "The man who draws them. The first thing I saw the morning after I came back from London was a fresh crop of dancing men," He handed Sherlock his tablet with photos of the new dancing men,"

"Excellent!" Sherlock said as he zoomed in on the image.

"Three days later, there was a message scribbled on a piece of paper under a pebble on the sun-dial. The characters were the exact same. Later that night, I decided to stay up and see who was doing this. At about two in the morning, Elsie came into my office to tell me to come to bed but then her face went white in the moonlight,"

"What did she see?"

"There was some sort of figure moving in the shadow of the shed. It was a dark creeping figure. By the time I got out to the shed with my gun, it had disappeared,"

"Did they leave a message?" Alice asked.

"Yes, the same arrangement as before. There was no other sign that the figure was even there. Then this morning, I went to check it again, and more was added to it."

"In addition to the original message, or was it separate?"

"Separate: it was on a different panel,"

"Were there any more messages that arrived before we came today- other than the ones you sent over the past week?"

"No, Miss. It was just those,"

"Thank you, Mr. Cubitt," Alice said, getting up. "We will contact you in the morning,"

"Thank you," Hilton said as he shook the trio's hands.

**

Alice sat on one of the beds in their triple room at the small hotel. Her bed was covered with the images of the dancing men. Each image had the date written on it with notebook paper below it. She had been working on cracking the code since Hilton had first visited them in London. 

It was at two in the morning, when her eyes lit up in triumph.

**

The next day the trio arrived back at the Cubitt's home to find local police surrounding the building.

"Mr. Holmes," The officer in charge said as they got out of their car. "Inspector Martin, I am in charge of this case. H- How did you hear of the crime? It only happened at three this morning,"

"Mr. Cubitt had come to us earlier in the week seeking our services," Sherlock responded. 

"Is there anything we might be missing then, Mr. Holmes? We have heard of your achievements here and were deeply saddened by the news of your death two years ago," Martin remarked. "But I should be proud to know that we will be working together, Mr. Holmes,"

"We only have evidence of the dancing men. Alice will explain it to you later," 

"Of course, but how did you hear of the incident?"

"What incident?" John asked the inspector.

"They have both been shot, Mr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife,"

"May we look at the crime scene, Inspector?" Alice asked.

"Certainly," Martin lifted the police tape and allowed the trio to enter the home. 

"She shot him," Martin said to Alice as Sherlock and John looked around the foyer.

"What?" Alice asked as she turned to the inspector.

"That's the main theory. She's upstairs in the bedroom with a doctor,"

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"There was one pistol found in the room and two of its barrels were empty. Mr. Cubitt was shot through the heart and Mr. Cubitt in the head. We found the revolver on the floor between them," said the doctor who was coming down the stairs. "The bullet had passed through the front of her brain and it will be a while before she can regain consciousness- if ever,"

"Has he been moved?" Sherlock asked.

"We moved nothing except for Mrs. Cubitt. It would have been wrong to leave her wounded on the floor,"

"How long have you been here, doctor?"

"Since four this morning,"

"Anyone else?"

"Just the inspector,"

"And neither of you have touched anything?"

"Nothing,"

"Who sent for you?"

"The housekeeper, Ms. Saunders,"

"Are there any other staff members that were here last night?"

"It was just her and Mrs. King, the cook,"

"Where are they now?"

"I believe in the kitchen,"

"Thank you, doctor," Alice said before walking up to Sherlock and John. "We have some suspects in the kitchen,"

"We sleep in adjoining rooms," Ms. Saunders said as Alice and John took notes. "We woke to the sound of the gunshot, the second one happened a minute later. The door to Mr. Cubitt's office was wide open and he was lying on his face in the centre of the room,"

"And where was Mrs. Cubitt?" John questioned.

"By the window. The side of her face was red with blood. She didn't say much. The hall and the room were full of smoke and smelled like powder."

"Can you show us the office?" Alice asked. Both women nodded and led the way to the crime scene.

The office was small, three of its walls were lined with books while a window occupied the fourth. Hilton's desk faced the window, looking out over the garden.

"Did they fight last night?" Alice asked as she looked around the office. "Or any of the past nights?"

"No, Miss," Mrs. King replied. "They seemed to be very much in love,"

"Thank you," Alice said to the cook before joining Sherlock, who was squatting by the dead body on the ground. "What have you deduced so far,"

"Woken up in the middle of the night based on the state of his dress, the bullet was fired from the front and penetrated the heart. Painless death," Sherlock said, getting up. "There's no powder mark on his hands or dressing gown,"

"According to the doctor, Elsie had stains on her face, but not her hands," John added.

Alice nodded and looked more closely around the room. "Unless the powder from a badly fitting cartridge happens to spurt backwards, one can fire multiple shots without leaving a sign. Did the doctor remove the bullet that wounded Mrs. Cubitt?" Alice asked Inspector Martin.

"She would need a serious operation first. But there are still four cartridges in the gun. Two shots were fired and two wounds were inflicted, each bullet is accounted for,"

"Perhaps you should also account the bullet which obviously struck the edge of the window," Alice said, cocking her head to one side.

"How did you notice that?"

"By looking," Sherlock answered as he grinned at Alice, who gave a slight smile back.

"If a third shot was fired then a third person must've been present," Martin concluded.

"Precisely," Alice commented. "Ms. Saunders and Mrs. King mentioned that they smelled powder when they were leaving their rooms. For that to happen, both the window and the door must've been open at some point. There was a third person here last night,"

"How do you figure?"

"The window was open at the time of the shooting. Any shot directed outside would have hit the windowsill. Now," Alice said as she walked to the desk. "This is interesting," She opened up the small purse lying on the desk and pulled out twenty fifty-pound banknotes from the bag. "A thousand pounds," 

"Fantastic," Inspector Martin said as Alice handed him the money.

"I could use some fresh air," Alice commented. 

"How about the garden?" John suggested, catching on to Alice's plan.

"Wonderful idea, John,"

Chapter Text

Alice stood in the garden with Sherlock, John, and Inspector Martin. The flower bed extended to the office window. Some of the flowers in the bed were trampled and there were footprints in the soil.

"You were correct," Sherlock noted as he picked up a small brass cylinder. "The third cartridge,"

"Fantastic!" Inspector Martin commented as Sherlock placed the cylinder in a small evidence bag. 

"Now, has anyone heard of a person named Nathaniel Abe Slaney?" Alice asked the group.

"I recall that there's someone with that name staying at the Elrige Inn," Martin answered, "Why do you ask?"

Alice handed him a folded letter. "Give this to him and when you bring him in don't tell him anything about Mrs. Cubitt's current condition,"

Inspector Martin nodded and called for one of his officers. "How did you do it?" he asked Sherlock and Alice as they all gathered in the living room.

"All it took was a quick internet search," Alice replied nonchalantly.

"But the code, how did that lead you to Slaney?"

Alice took out the photograph of the original sequence of dancing men. "First, I concluded that the symbols with flags marked that it was the end of a word. The letter 'E' is the most common letter in the alphabet. Out of the fifteen symbols in the first message, four of them were the same. I marked it down as an E. Now for the fun part: figuring out the rest of the letters was a challenge. In the messages, Mr. Cubitt sent us, there was a single word," Alice pulled out the other photo on her phone. 

"Fantastic," Martin commented, taking a closer look at the first cipher.

"In this message, there are two 'E's. I figured it was Mrs. Cubitt's first name: Elsie. This gave me the symbols for L, S, and I. Another message that was found gave me C, O, and M. After testing out a few more letters, I figured out the first message: Am here Abe Slaney. After solving the first cipher the rest became easier. This one is: At Elriges," Alice slid another photo forward. "It isn't far fetched to assume that Nathaniel Abe Slaney is an American. The letter from America started this whole mess after all. Mrs. Cubitt had made Mr. Cubitt promise to never ask about her life in the US; that must mean she had a criminal background. I called one of my former coworkers in the FBI and he mentioned that Nathaniel was of the most dangerous men in Chicago. The last message that was given to the Cubitts reads: 'Elsie prepare to meet thy God',"

"Can we hire you?" Inspector Martin asked Alice. 

Alice smiled and shook her head and looked at Sherlock and John. "I'm sorry, my services are already under a long term contract,"

"And here he comes," Sherlock said as the car pulled up.

As soon as Nathaniel Abe Slaney entered the house, Martin's men arrested him. 

"Did Elsie set up this trap? I got her note," Slaney demanded.

"Mrs. Cubitt was seriously injured last night," Alice said as she approached Slaney.

Slaney was silent for a couple of minutes. His face was ridden with despair. "I have nothing to hide. The man shot at me so I shot at him. But if you think that I would have hurt that woman then you are wrong. There was never a man in this world that loved a woman more than I loved her,"

"But she found out what kind of man you were," Sherlock said, taking another step forward. "She fled from America to avoid you and she married an Englishman. You followed her here and made her life miserable in order for her to abandon her husband and fly home with you. You murdered an innocent man and led his wife to suicide. You will answer to the law, whether English or American. I am certain of that,"

"I don't care what happens to me if Elsie dies,"

"What happened in Chicago?" 

"We met when we were kids. Over time I became more invested in the business; her father was the boss. He was clever, it was he who invented the code. When Elsie learned about our ways, she left and moved here. If I had taken another job, we could've been married with kids by now. I found out where she lived, and I wrote to her in our code. She never replied,"

"So you came to England and wrote your messages where she would see them," Sherlock concluded.

"Yes. She even wrote a reply once. Then my temper got the best of me. I began to threaten her. She said to visit her and that we would speak through the window in her husband's office. She brought money with her and tried to bribe me to leave her alone. I was angry and tried to pull her through the window. Her husband came in at that very moment. He fired at me and I at him, he fell to the ground shortly after. I ran away after that,"

A police car had arrived while Nathaniel was talking. Inspector Martin touched the prisoner's shoulder. "It's time to go,"

"Can I see her first?" Nathaniel asked desperately.

"You can't, I'm sorry," Alice replied, "She isn't conscious,"

Nathaniel lowered his head in grief. "I'm sorry, for everything,"

The trio watched as Nathaniel was taken away. 

"I believe if we leave right now, we can be back in London in time for dinner," John said as he looked at his watch.

"Sounds good to me," Alice said as she walked outside and into the fresh air. "You know, I've missed this,"

"What?"

"Solving crimes with you two,"

Sherlock let out a happy sigh and put his arm around the small American. "I've missed you,"

***

Alice lied awake in bed thinking about their most recent case. Elsie's past followed her to England, and it seemed the same was happening to her. Mycroft hadn't mentioned anything about Magnussen since their last meeting after the holidays but she was still on edge. She quickly got out of the bed, careful to not wake Sherlock and walked down to her old flat and to her closet. Alice reached for a small velvet jewellery box on the top shelf and removed the false bottom, double-checking that the small flash drive was still there and intact. 

Chapter Text

Greg Lestrade had been working on the case for over a year, bank robberies were normally open and shut cases but these robbers have been extremely hard to catch. Just as he was about to arrest the culprits, he received a worrying text from Sherlock Holmes.

HELP.
BAKER ST.
HELP ME.
PLEASE.

Lestrade ran away from the crime scene, leaving Sally Donovan in charge, and sped through the streets of London. "Back-up. I need maximum back-up. Baker Street, now!" he said into his phone as he drove. He raced up the stairs and into the living room. "What's going on?" Lestrade breathlessly asked.

Sherlock sat at the table with his laptop open, his fingers pressed into his temples. "This is hard,"

"What?" Lestrade asked nervously. If a case was hard for Sherlock, it was near impossible for him, but he'd be there regardless for the detective.

"Really hard. The hardest thing I've ever had to do," Sherlock picked up the book that was lying beside him and showed it the Greg. "Have you any funny stories about John?"

"What?" Lestrade asked again. 

"I need anecdotes. Didn't go to any trouble, did you?"

Greg couldn't help but stare at Sherlock in absolute exasperation.

Alice was shocked to see police cars, a helicopter, and an ambulance outside their flat. She had just returned from the tailors with her dress. Fearing the worst, she ran up the steps. "What happened?" she asked, still trying to catch her breath. Lestrade's face said everything. "Sherlock, what did you do?"

***

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she watched Sherlock waltz in the living room with an imaginary partner. A recording of Sherlock and Alice's composition for John and Mary played in the background.

"Shut up, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said as he saw his landlady walk in with a tea tray.

"I haven't said a word,"

Sherlock sighed and stopped dancing. "You're formulating a question. It is physically painful watching you thinking,"

"I thought it was you playing,"

"It was me playing," He said as he picked up a remote control and turned off the music. "I'm composing,"

"You were dancing," Mrs. Hudson corrected enthusiastically, setting the tray down on the table next to John's armchair. 

"Why are you here?" Sherlock demanded as he put down his pen.

"I'm bringing you your morning tea," Mrs. Hudson stated as she poured some milk into a teacup. "You're not usually awake,"

"You bring me tea in the morning?" Sherlock asked as he sat down in his chair.

"Well, where d'you think it came from?"

"I don't know. I thought it sort of appeared," Sherlock responded with a little wave of his hand.

"Your mother has a lot to answer for," Mrs. Hudson said, handing him a teacup and saucer.

"Hmm, I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a file,"

Mrs. Hudson laughed and sat down across from him in John's chair. "So, it's the big day, then!" she said excitedly.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea. "What big day?"

"The wedding!" Mrs. Hudson said as if it were obvious. "John and Mary are getting married,"

"Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, and then carry on living together. What's big about that?"

"It changes people, marriage,"

"No, it doesn't,"

"Well, you'll understand soon enough. You and Alice are getting married next,"

"Yes, but nothing will change between us. We are already living together and will continue to do so."

As if on cue, Alice walked into the living room in her dress and heels. Her engagement ring proudly visible on her left hand. "I have to head out. Sherlock, I'll see you at the church," Alice gave Sherlock a quick peck on the cheek before leaving the flat.

"Marriage changes you as a person, in ways you can't imagine," Mrs. Hudson said, continuing their previous conversation. "Alice's grandmother was one of my bridesmaids,"

"Aren't there usually biscuits?" Sherlock asked, attempting to change the subject.

"I've run out,"

"Have the shops?" He questioned, motioning to the door.

"She cried the whole day saying that it was the end of an era,"

Sherlock gestured to the stairs. "I'm sure the shop on the corner is open,"

"She left early that night. I mean, who leaves a wedding early, so sad,"

"Biscuits," Sherlock said sternly.

Mrs. Hudson got out of her chair. "I really am going to have to have a word with your mother,"

"You can if you like. She understands very little,"

"Well, maybe Alice can help,"

Sherlock closed the door and headed to his bedroom. He looked at the morning suit hanging on the open door in front of him. "Right then," he said as he took off his dressing-gown "Into battle,"

****

Alice beamed with joy as she watched John and Mary exit the chapel as man and wife. Sherlock and Janine, the chief bridesmaid, walked out after them. 

"Congratulations!" The photographer said "Okay, hold it there- I wanna get this shot of the newlyweds," 

John and Mary stopped per instruction and the rest of the wedding party stood behind them. Sherlock still stood by Mary's side, oblivious to the instruction.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he gestured for him to step back.

"Oh, sorry," Sherlock said as he walked out of the shot.

The photographer proceeded to take more photos of John and Mary, the wedding party, and some of Sherlock and Janine. Alice stood with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade while Sherlock had his photo taken.

"The famous Mr. Holmes!" Janine said as the photographer finished taking their photo. "I'm very pleased to meet you. But no sex, okay?"

Sherlock winced in surprise. "Um, sorry?"

"You don't have to look so scared, I'm only messing," Janine laughed. "Chief bridesmaid and best man, it's a bit traditional,"

Sherlock looked down in distaste, "I should let you know that I am in a happy relationship with the other bridesmaid. But if that is the thing you are looking for..." Sherlock turned his head to one of the wedding guests. "...the man over there in blue is your best bet. Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat, a barn conversion, and a history of erectile dysfunction." He paused for a second. "Reviewing that information, possibly not your best bet,"

"Yeah, maybe not," Janine took his arm "Mr. Holmes, you're going to be incredibly useful."

Sherlock looked down at her and frowned.

Chapter Text

Alice stood with Sherlock behind John and Mary as they greeted the guests outside the reception venue. John and Mary greeted everyone in a similar fashion until one of Mary's friends walked up.

"David!" Mary said excitedly and she leaned in to hug him.

David backed away and clasped her hands while laughing nervously. "Mary, congratulations. John, you're a lucky man," he said as he shook John's hand.

"Did Sherlock vet all of the guests?" John whispered to Alice as Mary greeted the next guest.

"Just the ones who he saw as threats to your happiness," Alice whispered back with a polite smile. "I think he still feels bad for the two years he's been gone,"

John nodded and turned back around to the receiving line. They greeted more guests when the young pageboy ran up to Sherlock and happily wrapped his arms around him. 

Sherlock looked awkwardly looked down at the young boy. "Yes, um, well done in the service, Archie,"

"He's really come out of his shell," Archie's mother said. "I don't know how you did it,"

Sherlock and Alice let out nervous chuckles, "Um,"

***FLASHBACK***

Alice had just returned from Mycroft's office to find Sherlock and Archie in a stand-off. Sherlock had been explaining the role of the pageboy to the young boy.

"No", Archie firmly stated

"You really do have to wear the outfit,"

"What for?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Grown-ups like that sort of thing,"

"Why?"

Sherlock paused for a few seconds. "I don't know. I'll ask one," Immediately, both of them turned their heads to Alice.

"It's tradition," Alice answered without missing a beat. "And it looks nice,"

Archie nodded and turned his attention back to Sherlock. "You're a detective," He said thoughtfully.

"Yep," Sherlock said, popping the 'P'.

"Have you solved any murders?"

"Sure, loads,"

"Can I see?"

Sherlock hesitated for a second before they walked over to his laptop. "Yeah, all right,"

"Don't show him anything too macabre," Alice called out as she fixed herself a cup of tea in the kitchen. "Start him off with something light then work your way up,"

"I thought you would be against this," Sherlock yelled back as Archie excitedly flipped thought the photos from previous cases and Sherlock's current research. 

Alice smiled as she sat down in John's armchair. "He has a genuine interest in this, I see no problem in showing him a few photos. I just don't want to get into trouble with his mother,"

"What's all the stuff in his eye?" Archie asked curiously.

"Maggots," Sherlock answered.

"Cool,"

Sherlock smiled at the young boy in amusement.

***PRESENT DAY***

"He said that you had some pictures for him, as a treat," Archie's mother continued.

"Um, yes, if he's good," Sherlock said.

Archie, who was still hugging Sherlock, smiled. "Beheadings,"

"Lovely little village," Alice interjected as she gently pushed the young boy towards the entrance.

Inside the reception venue, the guests mingled and the photographer made his rounds with his camera. Alice was busy talking with Greg while Sherlock stood with Janine.

"He's nice," Janine said as she watched a waiter walk past. 

Sherlock took a quick glance and sniffed deeply. "Traces of two leading brands of deodorant, both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odour problem manifesting under stress,"

"Okay, done there. What about his friend?"

Sherlock turned to look where she was looking. In the kitchen, another waiter carefully pulled out the skewer from the middle of a large joint of roast beef. "Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat,"

"Seriously?"

"Waterproof cover on his smartphone. Yet his complexion doesn' indicate outdoor work; suggests he's in the habit of taking his phone into the shower with him, which means he often receives texts and emails he'd rather went unseen,"

Janine smiled. "Can I keep you?"

"Do you like solving crimes?"

"Do you have a vacancy?"

Sherlock looked over at John, who was smiling as he chatted with Alice and Mary.

John and Mary were discussing Harry with Alice when a man in a military uniform walked into the reception venue.

"Oh God, wow! He came!" John said as he walked over to the man.

"So, that's him," Sherlock said, joining Alice and Mary. "Major Sholto,"

"Uh-huh," Mary said.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he looked at the two men. "If they're such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?"

"He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him," Mary commented, taking a sip of wine. She made a disgusted face. "Ugh, I chose this wine. It's bloody awful,"

"I've never heard him say his name,"

"Well, he's almost a recluse. I didn't think he'd show up at all. John says he's the most unsociable man he's ever met.

"He is? He's the most unsociable?"

Mary looked at Sherlock and smiled. "Oh, Sherlock, none of us were the first,"

"I'm very glad to see you, sir," John said to his friend. "I know you don't really do this sort of thing,"

"Well, I do for old friends, Watson... John." Sholto corrected himself. "It's good to see you,"

"You too,"

"Civilian life suiting you then?"

"Er, yes well, I think so, sir," John said as he looked at Mary.

"No more need for the trick cyclist?"

"No, I go now and then. Therapy can be very helpful. Where are you living these days?"

"Oh, way out in the middle of nowhere. You wouldn't know it,"

Chapter Text

It was finally time for Sherlock to deliver his speech and everyone at Alice's table was worried. She was sandwiched between Molly and Lestrade with Tom and Mrs. Hudson across from her. Molly watched with concern, remembering her sharing concern with the others. 

"First things first: telegrams. Well, they're not actually telegrams. We just call them that. I don't know why. Wedding traditions because we don't have enough of that already," Sherlock mumbled as he picked up the stack of telegrams. "'To Mr. and Mrs. Watson. So sorry I'm unable to be with you on your special day. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford,"

"Ah, Mike," John said, smiling.

"To John and Mary. All good wishes for your special day. With love and many big," Sherlock stumbled for a second. "Big squishy cuddles, from Stella and Ted," he said awkwardly. 

Lestrade snickered at Sherlock's uncomfortable stance while Mrs. Hudson just smiled. Molly and Alice simply exchanged looks of worry.

"Mary, lots of love..." Sherlock trailed off again. "...poppet. Oodles of love and heap of good wishes from Cam, Wish your family could have seen this,"

Mary's smile faded and John took her hand to comfort her. The hairs on Alice's back stood up. If Magnussen knew about her past then he would know about Mary's. Noticing her sudden discomfort, Lestrade gave her a look of worry.

Sherlock started to skim the telegrams. "Special day, very special day, love, love, love," He said as he shuffled through the cards. "Bit of a theme- you get the general gist. People are basically fond" Sherlock tossed the telegrams aside sounding slightly annoyed.

"John Watson," Sherlock continued, gesturing towards John. "My friend, John Watson," Sherlock turned back to the audience. "When John first broached the subject of being best man, I was confused,"

***FLASHBACK***

Sherlock stood in his kitchen wearing safety glasses and holding an eyeball with tweezers in one hand and a blowtorch with the other. "What was that noise downstairs?" He asked John, who had just come upstairs after talking to Mrs. Hudson.

"Er, it was Mrs. Hudson laughing,"

"Sounded like she was torturing an owl," Sherlock said as he held the blowtorch to the optic nerve that dangled behind the eyeball.

"Yeah. Well, it was laughter,"

"Could've been both,"

John looked at Sherlock's current experiment. "Busy?"

Sherlock turned off the blowtorch and placed it on the table. "Just occupying myself. Sometimes, it's so hard not smoking," He leaned his head back dramatically and accidentally dropped the eye into his mug of tea. "Oh," He said, looking down at his mug.

"Mind if I interrupt?"

"Be my guest," Sherlock said, gesturing to the chair at the end of the table.

"Tea?" Sherlock offered the mug to John.

"Er, no thanks," 

Sherlock shrugged and took off his glasses.

"So," John continued "The big question,"

"Mmhmm,"

"The best man,"

"The best man?"

"What do you think?"

"Billy Kincaid,"

"Sorry, what?"

"Billy Kincaid, the Camden Garrotter. Best man I can think of; vast contributions to charity, never disclosed," Sherlock said in rapid-fire."Personally managed to save three hospitals from closure and ran the best and safest children's homes in north England. Yes, every now and again there'd be some garrotings, but stacking up the lives saved against the garrotings, on balance I'd say..."

"For my wedding!" John interrupted "For me. I need a best man,"

"Oh, right,"

"Maybe not a garrotter,"

"Gavin?" Sherlock suggested.

"Who?" John asked, confused.

"Gavin Lestrade? He's a man and good at it,"

"It's Greg. And he's not my best friend,"

"Oh, Mike Stamford, I see. Well, he's nice, though I'm not sure how well he'd cope with all..."

"No, Mike's great, but he's not my best friend,"

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to think of another friend.

"Look, Sherlock," John continued. "This is the biggest and most important day of my life,"

Sherlock made a doubtful face. "Well..."

"No, it is!" John said sternly, pointing a finger. "It is, and I want to be up there with the three people that I love and care about most in the word,"

Sherlock nodded, still oblivious.

"So, Mary Morstan..." John began to list.

"Yes,"

John sighed. "Alice, and..." he looked up at Sherlock, who was patiently waiting for the last person. "...you,"

Sherlock stood still. Other than his eyes blinking several times, there was little movement.

"Sherlock?” John asked, trying to get some reaction out of his friend. The silence between them dragged on. "That's getting a bit scary now,"

***PRESENT DAY***

"I had explained to him that I'd never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it," Sherlock continued "I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was- for me- as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated. Additionally, I thanked him for the trust he'd placed in me and indicated that I was, in some ways, moved by it. It later transpired that I had said none of this out loud,"

***FLASHBACK***

Sherlock took a deep breath and focused his gaze at John. "So, in fact... you mean,"

"Yes,"

"I'm you... best..."

"...man," John finished.

"...friend?" Sherlock asked simultaneously.

"Yeah," John answered, " 'course you are,"

***PRESENT DAY***

Sherlock reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cue cards. "Done that, done that, done that bit," he said as he threw the cards aside with the telegrams. He looked back up at the audience then turned to John. "I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you. All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold, reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world,"

The wedding guests began to look at each other, uncomfortable. 

"Today we honour the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time one feels certain, our species... but anyway, let's talk about John,"

"Please," John muttered to himself. Alice shot the groom an apologetic look.

"I burden myself with a little helpmate during my adventures, it is not out of sentiment or caprice- it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me. Indeed, any reputation I have for my mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides. It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favour a plain bridesmaid for their big day," Sherlock continued.

Janine looked up at Sherlock, hurt by his words.

"There is a certain analogy there, I feel. And the contrast is, after all, God's own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation. Or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot.

The priest amongst the guests frowned and Mary facepalmed.

"The point I'm trying to make," Sherlock said slowly "is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous.." He turned to Janine "...unaware of the beautiful..." He turned to John and Mary "...and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend." 

Lestrade and Molly looked at each other. Sherlock would never know how much he meant to each of them.

"Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I'm apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion," Sherlock gave a brief look at Alice then smiled down at the couple next to him. "Actually, now I can,"

Sherlock looked at Mary. "Mary, when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss- so sorry again about that last one- so know this: today, you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have helped save- in short, the two people who love you most in the world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that,"

Alice looked over at Mrs. Hudson, who was sniffling into her handkerchief. Alice, herself, wiped a few tears from her eyes.

Sherlock, oblivious to the reaction, shuffled through his cards again. "Ah, yes. Now on to some funny stories about John..." he looked up and realized that people were crying. "What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John? Alice? Did I do it wrong?"

John got out of his chair and pulled Sherlock into a tight hug. "No, you didn't. Come here," The two hugged and everyone clapped.

"I haven't finished yet," Sherlock whispered, causing John to let out a light laugh. Sherlock began to read from his cue cards again. "So, on to some funny stories..."

"Can you wait 'til I sit down?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat as John sat back down. "So, on to some funny stories about John"

Chapter Text

"So, on to some funny stories about John," Sherlock looked out at the guests, some were still dabbing their eyes. "If you could all just cheer up a bit that would be better. On we go. So, for funny stories, one has to look no further than John's blog. The record of our time together. Of course, he does tend to romanticize things a bit, but then, you know, he's a romantic," Sherlock gave John and Mary a small, but sincere, smiled. "We've tackled some strange cases: The Hollow Client; The Poison Giant, but we want something very particular for this special day, don't we? The Bloody Guardsman,"

***FLASHBACK***

Sherlock stood in front of the wall above the sofa. Instead of the traditional crime map, the wall was covered with details for John and Mary's wedding. Alice and Mary were sitting at the table behind him, working on the seating chart for the reception while John sat in his chair reading emails from potential clients on his phone.

"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin," Sherlock commented as he looked over the list of confirmed guests.

Mary looked up as Sherlock turned to face both of them. "Orphan's lot. Friends- that's all I have, lot's of friends," She said with a smile.

"Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48," 

"The rehearsal's not for another two weeks," Mary argued, looking at the cardboard model of the reception venue. "Just calm down,"

"Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm," Sherlock replied quickly.

"Let's get back to the reception, come on,"

Sherlock walked over to the table and sat next to Alice, giving her a small peck on the head.

"John's cousin, top table?" Mary began, looking over the guest list.

"She hates you," Alice stated as she picked up the RSVP card and handed it to Sherlock.

"Seriously?" Mary asked.

"Second class post, cheap congratulatory card; bought at a petrol station. She simply signed her name under the prewritten message," Sherlock added, sniffing the card. "Look at the stamp; three attempts at licking,"

"Unconsciously retaining saliva," Alice mumbled as she began to work on another name card for the reception.  

"Ah, let's stick her by the bogs," Mary said with a smile. She cleared her throat and leaned towards the couple. "Who else hates me?"

Sherlock didn't even look up from the papers  in front of him as he handed her a prepared list.

"Oh great, thanks," Mary said sarcastically as she looked over the long list. 

"Priceless painting nicked," John suggested from his seat. "Looks interesting,"

The three ignored him as they went through each table.

"My husband is three people," John proposed.

"Major James Sholto," Alice said as she looked at a list for table five. "Who's he?"

"John's old commanding officer," Mary explained "I don't think he's coming,"

"He'll be there," John said firmly. "My husband is three people. It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of Moles on his skin," 

"Identical triplets- one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat," Sherlock said as he pulled out a tray with two serviettes from under the couch. "Now, swan or Sydney Opera House?"

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Mary asked in delight.

"Many unexpected skills are required in the field of criminal investigations,"

"Lying, Sherlock," Alice commented as she put down her calligraphy pen.

"I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the severity of-"

"I'm not John, I can tell when you're fibbing," Mary interrupted.

Sherlock sighed in defeat. "Okay, I learned it on YouTube,"

Alice raised her eyebrows and smiled at her fiancé.

"Opera House, please. Hang on, I'm buzzing," Mary said as she pulled out her phone and walked into the kitchen. John followed her soon after.

Alice smiled and knelt down on the floor beside Sherlock. "There is no reason for you to be afraid,"

"Who said I was afraid?" Sherlock asked defensively.

"You are YouTubing napkins," Alice said, holding up the swan-shaped serviette. "This one would be a nice friend for my brother's turtle," She let out a sigh. "John is not going to abandon you; nothing is going to change,"

"I know that,"

Alice looked down and frowned. "Sherlock, that is the twenty-third napkin you've folded since the start of our conversation," Sherlock paused and looked around. There were ten Opera Houses on the floor next to them and twelve more on the table.

"Oh,"

"Besides, I think John could use a break. You two should take a case. Mary and I can handle a day or two of wedding planning without you boys,"

At that moment John returned to the living room. The two geniuses looked up at the doctor, who was taking in the many serviettes.

"That just sort of happened," Sherlock said, helping Alice up and off the ground.

"I'm going to go see if Mary needs anything," Alice said as she walked towards the kitchen.

Alice and Mary watched the boys leave the flat. "I'd never thought they'd leave," Alice smiled and pulled down a plate of brownies from the top of the fridge. "I am never planning another wedding ever again,"

"You're next," Mary said as she took a brownie off of the plate.

Alice sighed, "It never really hit until recently. It'll probably be a small wedding though. We already decided to have the ceremony here, so that rules out most of my family and I have few friends who could fly out on a whim,"

"None of them would be willing to come to London to celebrate?"

"My sister is a lawyer and a new mom so I couldn't ask her to fly out here. My mom left when I was 15 and my dad and I aren't that close. My brother would be the only one that would visit,"

"And your friends?"

"You and I both know the answer to that," Alice looked at Mary. "Do you think you will ever tell John about your past?"

Mary paused, slightly uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. 

"Mary, I want you to know that I have always thought of you as a sister-like figure. We both have skeletons in our closets and red in our ledgers. But I want to know what I can and cannot disclose to the boys. I will respect your decision either way," Alice assured. "I'm in the same boat as you when it comes to this. We've both found men we love and are terrified to lose them," 

"I don't think I can," Mary answered, biting her lip. "He'd hate me. He'd never look at me the same way ever again. Does Sherlock know about you?"

Alice shook her head "I told them that I was hired by the Department of Defense at a young age and did freelance for a few years. The only person who really knows about my whole past is Sherlock's brother Mycroft,"

"Did Moriarty know about your past?"

"I think he knew a majority of it, but he focused more on my cybersecurity skills. He already had an expert marksman working for him,"

"Has the marksman tried to contact you?"

"No. The last time I saw Sebastian was at Bart's before Moriarty's death," Alice sighed. "Do you ever worry about people from your past coming for you?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"All the time. It's not that I am scared for myself, I deserve whatever comes for me. But I cannot let Sherlock suffer the same fate,"

"Have you ever thought about telling him?"

Alice nodded. "I don't want there to be any secrets between us before we get married. I've tried to hide it for the past four years but I can't do it anymore. If I lose him then I lose him,"

"I don't know if I will ever tell John," Mary admitted. "I can't lose him,"

Alice nodded in understanding.

***PRESENT DAY***

The guests listened to Sherlock as he described the events of the case. Alice knew the details- how Sherlock and John found Private Bainbridge dying on the shower floor minutes after he was on guard.

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish- but ain all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?"

Chapter Text

The guests listened as Sherlock described the events of the case. Alice knew the details- how the boys found Private Bainbridge dying on the shower floor only minutes after he was on guard.

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish- but ain all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?"

The audience looked around, nervous to sound like idiots.

"Come on, come on," Sherlock groaned. "There is actually an element of Q and A to all this," His attention immediately turned to Lestrade. "Scotland Yard. Have you got a theory? You're a detective, broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

Lestrade began to think, shifting in his seat. "If the, uh, if the blade was propelled through the, um, grating in the air vent- maybe a ballista or a catapult- somebody tiny could crawl in there. So yeah, we're looking for a dwarf,"

Sherlock thought for a second. "Brilliant," 

"Really?"

"No. Next," Sherlock noticed Tom whispering to Molly. "Tom, got a theory?"

Tom slowly stood up from his seat, as if he was in school. "Um... attempted suicide with a blade made of compacted blood and bone... broke after piercing his abdomen, like a meat dagger,"

"A...meat...dagger. No,"

Tom sat back down while Molly looked embarrassed. 

"There was one feature," Sherlock continued "And only one feature of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson- who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling," Sherlock looked down at John. "The bravest man I know- and on top of that, he actually knows how to do stuff. Except wedding planning and serviettes- he's rubbish at those,"

"It’s true," John added, laughing.

"The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder— or attempted murder— I've ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John. I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some..."

"No, wait," Lestrade interrupted "How was it done, the stabbing?"

Sherlock looked down awkwardly. "I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. It can happen. It's very disappointing," He thought for a second before returning to his cue cards. "Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course, there are hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits,"

Alice and Greg exchanged knowing looks.

***FLASHBACK***

Alice followed Greg down the hallway, her heels clicked against the tiled floor. Lestrade stopped and pulled out a ring of keys, unlocking the metal door. John was on the floor and Sherlock was on his back on the bench in the holding cell.

"Wakey- wakey!" Lestrade called out, clearly having too much fun. 

"Oh my God," John moaned as he raised his head. "Greg? Is that Greg? And... Alice?"

"Get up, I've brought you someone scarier than the desk sergeant," Lestrade lectured. "What a couple of lightweights, you couldn't even make it to closing time,"

John started to shuffle to the door. "Can you whisper?"

"NOT REALLY!"

Lestrade’s yell caused Sherlock to fall off the small bed. His attention immediately locked on Alice and he reached out to her like a baby.

"Come on," Lestrade said gently as he helped John onto his feet. 

"Say 'thank you' to Lestrade," Alice instructed to the two men as she supported Sherlock on her shoulder. "My God, you two barely lasted two hours according to Mrs. Hudson,"

"That woman, Tessa," Sherlock muttered. He was pacing with one of his old laptops in his arms.

"What?" John asked as he sat down in his armchair.

"Dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity,"

"How are you feeling?" Alice asked as she handed John a glass of water with an antacid pill in it.

"Mmm," John mumbled as he took a sip of the drink.

"I made your favourite," Mrs. Hudson said as she placed a full English breakfast on the table next to his chair. "It's just like old times, having you back here,"

"John will still be helping us out Mrs. Hudson," Alice commented, sitting down on the arm of Sherlock's chair.

"Exactly," John added "There's no need to sound so final about it. Both Mary and I will be around,"

Mrs. Hudson let out a laugh and sat beside Alice in Sherlock's armchair. "I've heard that one before and it's not like you visited after Sherlock's disappearance," 

"It's different to when we thought we lost him,"

"Well, marriage changes everything, John. You might not think it, but it does,"

"There are going to be others," Sherlock said as he pulled out another laptop.

"Others?" Alice asked as she watched her fiancé open up to a website for women who dated ghosts.

"Victims, women. Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house- this ghost, however, is willing to commute, look,"

During the conversation with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock had gotten a map and spread it out on the coffee table. He had several pins placed, indicating the date location. A rough circle was formed by seven pins, spanning a few miles around the Thames. Together, Alice and Sherlock had narrowed it down to four more women: Gail, Charlotte, Robyn, and Vicky. After a few questions, they learned that the man had given them four different identities of recent deaths.

"All single men," Alice said as she looked at her notes and obituaries. "He's using the dead man's flat under the assumption that it'll be empty for a while,"

Suddenly, Tessa's chat log appeared on the screen. 

"No one wants to use a dead man's home, least not until it's been cleared," Sherlock said.  "So, he disguises himself and steals the man's identity but only for a day,"

"Ask about their jobs," Alice suggested.

"Okay; gardener, cook, private nurse, security, and maid,"

"He's working his way up someone's pecking order. The question is: who?"

After another question about if they had a secret they'd never share,  all the women closed their chat log. Except for Tessa who left a final message.

Enjoy the wedding :)

"Why would he date all those women and not return their calls?" Sherlock asked as he shut the laptop.

"'Cause he's a man," Alice said, not looking up from her computer.

"Maybe he's married," John added.

***PRESENT DAY***

"Married," Sherlock said, looking out at the audience of wedding guests. "Obvious really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity and instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbeque with awful dreadful boring people he couldn't stand, he used his wits, cleverness, and powers of disguise to play the field. He was..." He stopped once he realized that he had lost his audience.

"On second thought, I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special, but a word to the wise: should any of you require our services, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that- I should know. He's saved mine so many times and in so many ways,"

Sherlock held up his phone. "This blog is the story of two, sometimes three, people and their ridiculous adventures of murder, mystery, and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story- a bigger adventure," He picked up his glass while the guests stand and do the same with theirs. "Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding. Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is..."

Suddenly as if time slowed down, Sherlock dropped his champagne flute as the photographer took his picture. 

Alice looked at him with concern. She knew what had happened, he figured something out. Sherlock was in his mind palace. Barely a hundred people had seen the invitation. She thought to herself.

The Mayfly Man only saw five women. Someone went to great lengths to find something about this wedding. They lied and assumed false identities- suggests criminal intent, intelligence, planning, and murder. Both thought at the same time.

"...here today," His glass falls to the ground. "Oops,"

"Another glass, sir," a waiter said as he handed Sherlock another champagne flute. 

"Thank you, yes," Sherlock said before resuming his speech. "Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up, and down again," he said as he gestured for everyone to sit back down. "Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech- get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now..." he proceeded to jump over the table. "...part two,"

"Part two is more action-based. I'm gonna walk around and shake things up a bit," Sherlock said as he tried to narrow down who the mayfly man was. In his mind, all of the male guest other than little Archie could be possible suspects. "Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding,"

"What's he doing?" Lestrade whispered to Alice.

"He figured something out. Something important,"

"What is it?"

"The Mayfly Man is here. The question is: Who is it and who is the target?"

"Have you figured it out?"

"I have two or three theories for each- and let me say that it's not looking good on the victim end. Be ready to move on either Sherlock's or my signal,"

Sherlock was struggling to figure out who the Mayfly Man was out of all the guests while also trying to remain calm. "... Sorry, too many jokes about John! Now, where was I? Ah, yes, speech. Let's talk about murder. Sorry, did I say 'murder'? I meant to say 'marriage' - but, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them's dead. In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though," He looked over at Alice and gave her a slight nod. Sherlock looked across the room to Lestrade as he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. "Geoff, the gents. The loos, now please,"

Lestrade sat with his arms crossed over his chest. "It's Greg,"

"The loos, please," Sherlock repeated. "I think it's your turn,"

Finally understanding Sherlock's message, Lestrade looked down at his phone.

Lock this place down.

"Actually, now that you mention it..." Lestrade said as he hurried out the door.

"Sherlock," John said with a nervous laugh. "Any chance of an end date for this speech? Got to cut the cake,"

"Oh!" Sherlock continued "Ladies and gentlemen, can't stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos,"

Immediately, John and Alice straightened up.

Chapter Text

Immediately, John and Alice straightened up.

"What did he say?" Lestrade asked, returning to his seat.

"A warning," Alice whispered "Someone's going to die,"

"You two," Sherlock said as he pointed to John and Alice. "John and Alice, you keep me right,"

John stood up while Alice stayed in her seat. 'What do you need us to do?" John asked.

"You've already done it: help me solve the murder and save the life," Sherlock drew in a deep breath before turning back to the confused audience. "Sorry, off-piste a bit. Let's play a game. Let's play Murder,"

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said disapprovingly.

"Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?"

"Think you're a popular choice at the moment, dear,"

"If someone could move Mrs. Hudson's glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely," Sherlock said, gesturing behind him. "More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding? Most people you could kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I've often planned the murder of friends and colleagues. John, I'd poison. Sloppy eater, dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue. Lestrade's so easy it's a miracle no one's succumbed to the temptation. I've got a pair of keys to my brother's house. I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him... if the whim arose,"

"He's pissed, isn't he?" Tom asked quietly. Molly promptly stabbed him with the tines of her fork.

 "So, once again, who could you only kill here? Clearly, it's a rare opportunity, so it's someone who doesn't get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity. And since killing them in public is difficult, killing them in private isn't an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location. Possibly someone under threat. A recluse with small household staff, probably all signed confidentiality agreements,"

In his Mind Palace, all of the guests have disappeared except for Major Sholto.

"There is another question that remains, however- a bit one: How would you do it? How would you kill someone in public?" Sherlock walked over to Sholto and casually dropped a name card down in front of the Major.

It's you

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!" Archie shouted as he excitedly jumped out of his chair.

Sherlock smiled and turned to the boy. "Oh, hello again, Archie. What's your theory? Get this right and there's a headless nun in it for you," 

"The invisible man could do it!" Archie exclaimed.

"The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?" Sherlock asked in rapid-fire.

"The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman,"

Sherlock gasped in realisation and turned to Alice, who nodded in agreement. Alice turned and saw Sholto leave the venue. "Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude. To the bride and groom," He announced. Before the guests could finish repeating the toast, Sherlock turned to John. "Major Sholto's going to be murdered. I don't know how or by whom, but it's going to happen,"

" 'Scuse me, coming through!" Sherlock said as he led Alice through the guests. "Consulting," John and Mary followed soon after with Lestrade.

*

"The replacement photographer, did you do a background check on him?" Sherlock asked as he led Alice out the doorway.

"Just the basics. I didn't have the time or energy to go as in-depth as you chose to do with some of the guests,"

"What's his name?"

"Jonathan Small,"

The corners of Sherlock's mouth smiled in triumph. "I knew there had to be some sort of connection. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in the incident,"

"Sherlock," Alice stopped the detective once she noticed the photographer packing his bag outside of the reception venue. "You and John take care of Major Sholto. I'll go with Lestrade and get Small,"

*

"How can you not remember which room?" John impatiently asked Sherlock. The two were on the staircase's half-landing. "And where's Alice?"

"I have to delete some things and Alice left with Lestrade," Sherlock said with his eyes closed, trying to find the information in his Mind Palace.

"207" Mary called as she ran past them and headed up the stairs. The boys followed after her. 

"Major Sholto!" Sherlock said as he jiggled the locked door handle. "Major Sholto!"

Sholto sat in the chair in his room with a gun in his hands. "If someone's about to make an attempt on my life, it won't be the first time. I'm ready,"

"Major, let us in," John said from the other side of the door.

"Kick the door down," Mary suggested.

"I really wouldn't" Sholto warned. "I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes,"

"You're not safe in there. Whoever's after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop him," Sherlock said.

"The invisible man with the invisible knife," Sholto mocked.

"I don't know how he does it, so I can't stop him, and that means he'll do it again,"

"Solve it then. You're the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case, on you go. Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door,"

"Solve it," Mary instructed.

"Sorry?" Sherlock questioned.

"Solve it and he'll open the door like he said,"

"If I couldn't solve it before, how can I solve it now?"

"Because it matters now,"

"Wha are you talking about?" Sherlock turned to John 'What is she talking about? Get your wife under control,"

"She's right," John said.

"Oh, you've changed," Sherlock retorted.

"No, she is," John pointed at Sherlock. "You are not a puzzle-solver, you've never been, you're a drama queen. Now, there is a man in there about to die. 'The game is on', solve it!"

Sherlock closed his eyes and entered his mind palace. Major Sholto and Private Bainbridge, what are their similarities? Tight uniform belts. Small slim blade.

Sherlock gasped and kissed Mary on the forehead, thanking her. "Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too," He went to the door again. "Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago. Don't take off your belt,"

"My belt?" Sholto asked.

"Yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we saw him. A tight belt, worn high on the waist is very easy to push through with a small blade,"

"The belt would bind the flesh together," John said in understanding. "and when taken off..."

"Delayed action stabbing. You would have all the time in the world to create an alibi," Sherlock shook the doorhandle again. "Major Sholto?"

"So, I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate," Sholto stood up and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"He solved the case, Major," Mary said. "You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal,"

"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose- given the circumstances- I don't have to," Sholto threw his gun onto the bed. "When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue. 

"Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it now," John yelled. "I will kick this door down,"

"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think"

Sherlock walked up to the door and placed his hand on it. "Yes, I think we are,"

"There's a proper time to die, isn't there? And one should embrace it when it comes- like a soldier,"

"Of course one should, but not at John's wedding," Sherlock said firmly. "We wouldn't do that, would we- you and me. We would never do that to John Watson,"

After a few seconds, Sholto opened the door. "I believe I am in need of medical attention," he said, turning John.

"I believe I am your doctor," John said as he and Mary followed Sholto into the bedroom.

Chapter Text

The sun had already set and the guests were mingling and dancing in the reception hall. Sherlock waltzed with Janine in a side room alone.

"Ooh," Janine breathed out in relief as they finished. "Why do we have to rehearse?"

"Because we are about to dance together in public and your skills are appalling," He answered, giving her a slight smile.

Janine let out a laugh. "Well, you're a good teacher and a brilliant dancer,"

Sherlock leaned towards her. "I'll let you in on something, Janine," He whispered. "I love dancing. I've always loved it,"

"Seriously?"

Sherlock looked around to make sure no one else was watching before he did a pirouette.

"It never really comes up in crime work but I live in hope of the right case,"

Janine sighed. "I wish you weren't..."

Sherlock smirked. "I know,"

"Well, glad to see you've pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding," John joked as he entered the room.

"One murder- one nearly murder," Sherlock corrected.

"Sherlock?" Alice said as she and Lestrade entered with the wedding photographer. "We got him,"

Sherlock smiled and clapped his hands together. "Ah, the photographer, excellent," Sherlock reached towards the camera bag. "May I have a look at your camera?"

"What's this about? I was halfway home," The photographer said.

"You should have driven faster," Alice remarked as she took the camera out of the bag and handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock began to flick through the photos, smiling. "Ah, yes, very good,"

"What is it?" Lestrade asked looking at the photographs. "Is the murderer in these photographs?" 

"It's not what's in the photographs; it's what's not in them- not in any of them,"

"Sherlock?" John interrupted. "The showing-off thing: we've discussed it before,"

Sherlock walked closer to the photographer. "There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere and can even carry an equipment bag around with him. You never see his face, you only ever see the camera,"

Lestrade cuffed the photographer to the nearby empty birdcage. 

"What are you doing?" The photographer asked.

Alice stepped forward with her phone in her hand. "Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer- known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was killed in the incursion. He sought revenge on Major Sholto and worked his way through Sholto's staff until he found what he needed: an invitation to a wedding. It would be one time Sholto would be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder on Private Bainbridge,"

"A brilliant, ruthless, and almost certainly monomaniac," Sherlock added. "It's a shame, his photos are pretty decent,"

"It's not me you should be arresting. Sholto- he's the killer. I should have killed him quicker," Jonathan said, shaking his head in defeat. "I shouldn't have tried to be clever,"

"You should have driven faster," Sherlock corrected as he and Janine walked away. John followed soon after.

Within a few minutes, Alice had sent the complicit photos of Small with Bainbridge and the rest of the details to Lestrade's mobile from Small's phone. 

"You know, you can go back to the reception if you want. I don't mind waiting until a squad arrives," Lestrade said as stood next to Alice across from the cuffed photographer.

"No, it's fine. I have to make a quick call anyway," Alice responded with a sad smile before excusing herself.

*

The wedding guests watched as John and Mary celebrated their first dance together as a married couple. Alice and Sherlock were on the low stage playing the waltz they composed. As the music drew to a close, John dipped Mary and the two shared a kiss. 

Sherlock stepped forward to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, one last thing before the evening begins properly: apologies for earlier, a crisis arose and was dealt with. More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life and I intend to only make one more after this. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you," Alice raised her brow as Sherlock corrected himself. "I mean two of you. All two of you. Sorry, I miscounted. Anyways, it's time for dancing,"

After a little more prompting and some upbeat music, the guests began to move once again onto the dance floor.

"Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was expecting," Sherlock apologised once he joined John and Mary.

"Deduction?" Mary questioned.

"Increased appetite, change of taste perception, and you were sick this morning. You assumed it was wedding nerves. All the signs are there,"

"The signs?"

"The signs of three," Sherlock smiled. "Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test. The statistics for the first trimester are..."

"Shut up. Just... shut up," John interrupted before turning to Mary. "How did he notice before me? I'm a bloody doctor,"

"It's your day off," Sherlock argued.

"It's your day off," John argued back

"Stop panicking,"

"I'm not panicking," 

"I'm pregnant, I'm panicking," Mary said.

"You have absolutely no reason to panic. You're already the best parents in the world. Look at all the practice you've had!" Sherlock said, smiling.

"What practice?" John frowned in confusion.

"Well, you're hardly gonna need me around now that you've got a real baby on the way," 

The trio smiled in delight before beginning to laugh. 

*

Alice smiled as she watched Sherlock talk with Mary and John from the corner of the reception hall. Our family's getting bigger, she thought to herself as she left the venue. A familiar black car waited for her outside. She had received Mycroft's message when she was collecting Jonathan Small with Lestrade.

It's time

MH

*

Molly stood alone at the by the wall, she broke off the engagement with Tom during the unscheduled break. She watched as Alice quietly left the reception. Her gaze then turned to Sherlock who was still talking to John and Mary, unaware that his fiancée left the reception early.

*

Alice's dress hung on its hanger in the bedroom of 221c.  Alice shed a tear as she packed a bag. Returning to her closet, she took out the flash drive in the jewellery box and placed it in her coat pocket. "I'd go to the end of the Earth for you too,"

Chapter Text

John was jolted out of his sleep by the pounding on the door.

"I know it's early," Their neighbour cried as soon as the front door opened. "Really, I'm sorry,"

"Is that Kate?" Mary asked as she tied her dressing gown.

"Y- yeah, it's Kate," John answered, still standing at the door.

"Invite her in?" Mary suggested.

John broke out of his shock and invited Kate inside. The sobbing woman stepped inside and Mary walked up to hug her.

"It's all right," Mary soothed Kate, who was sobbing on the couch, before turning to John who had put two mugs of coffee on the table. "It's Isaac,"

"Ah, your husband,"

"Son," Mary corrected.

"Son, yeah," John corrected himself.

"He's gone missing again. Didn't come home last night," Kate explained.

Mary let out a sympathetic sigh and looked at John. "The usual,"

"He's the drugs one, yeah?" John asked, causing Kate to break into tears again.

"Nicely put, John," Mary whispered sarcastically.

"Is it Sherlock Holmes you want? Because I've not seen him in ages," John inquired, his left-hand twitching.

"About a month," Mary remarked.

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" Kate asked,

"You see, that does happen," 

"There's a place they all go to, him and his... friends. They all do whatever they do... shoot up or whatever you call it,"

"Where is he?" John asked, getting straight to the point.

"It's a house, a dump. I mean, it's practically falling apart,"

"No, the address,"

Shortly after, John and Mary arrived at the rundown house that Isaac and his friends used to have their fun. John got out of the passenger side and pulled out a tire lever from the back of the car.

"Why do you have that?" Mary asked.

"'Cause there are loads of smackheads in there, and one of them might need help with a tire. If there's any trouble, just go. I'll be fine,"

"Er, wait, John," Mary said as she got out of the car "It is a tiny bit sexy,"

John smiled and looked at his wife. "Yeah, I know,"

John turned back and swiftly walked over to the desolate building. "Hello?" He said, banging loudly on the door.

The door was opened by a scruffy young man. "What d'you want?"

John forced his way into the house and walked down the hall. "I'm looking for a friend. A very specific friend. I'm not just browsing,"

"You've gotta go," The young man said as he followed John. "No one's allowed 'ere,"

"Isaac Whitney, have you seen him?" John asked.

The young man took out a small flick knife and aimed it at John.

"I'm asking you if you've seen Isaac Whitney and now you're showing me a knife. Is it a clue?" 

"Go, or I'll cut you,"

"Ooh, not from there. Let me help," John walked up to the man. "Now, concentrate. Isaac Whitney,"

"You asked for it," Before the man could even move, John lashed out and slammed his right hand down on the young man's arm, forcing the flick knife onto the floor. John then used his foot to force the man onto the ground.

"Right," John said as he knelt beside the young man. "Are you concentrating yet?"

"You broke my arm!"

"No, I sprained it,"

"Feel that! Is it supposed to feel squishy?"

John sighed and squeezed the man's arm. "Yeah, it's a sprain. I'm a doctor- I know how to sprain people. Now, where is Isaac Whitney?"

"Maybe upstairs,"

"There you go," John said as he patted the injured man's leg. He stood up and walked towards the stairs.

"You're mental, you are," The man called out. 

"No," John responded as he pocketed the knife. "Just used to a better class of criminal,"

He walked up the stairs and into a large room. Several people were lying down on mattresses, completely unaware of their surrounding. "Issac?" He called out as he walked over to two people lying side by side on mattresses. "Issac?" he said to the one who tiredly raised their hand. "Can you sit up for me?"

"Doctor Watson?" Isaac asked as he tried to focus on John. "Where am I?"

"The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth,"

"Have you come for me?"

"D'you think I know a lot of people here?" John retorted. He froze when a familiar voice spoke from the bed behind him.

"Ah, hello, John. Didn't expect to see you here," Sherlock said as he pushed his hood back. "Did you come for me, too?"

*

Mary sat in the driver's seat. "Hello, Isaac," She said as Issac stumbled over to the car.

"Mrs. Watson, can I get in, please," Isaac asked, blurrily.

Mary pointed to the seat behind her with her thumb. "Yes, of course, get in. Where's John?"

"They're havin' a fight," Isaac said as he opened the car door.

"Who is?" Mary asked as she looked at Isaac in disbelief.

Sherlock angrily pushed open the temporary door on the first-floor landing. "For God's sake, John! I'm on a case!" he yelled as he stomped across a fire escape.

"A month- that's all it took," John yelled as he followed Sherlock. "One,"

Sherlock jumped over a trash bin and landed on the ground. "I'm working,"

"Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How's that going to look?" John asked as he jumped onto the ground. 

"I'm undercover," Sherlock argued.

"No, you're not!"

"Well, I'm not now!" Sherlock yelled, gesturing angrily with his arms like an angry toddler.

Mary drove up to the pair. "In. Both of you," She snapped.

Both men followed her order and climbed into the car; John and the front seat and Sherlock in the back with Isaac. 

"Please, can I come in?" The young man John had injured asked "I think I've got a broken arm,"

"No, go away," Mary said.

"No, let him in," John muttered.

"Why?" Mary asked her husband.

John ignored her and told the man to get in.

"Anyone else?" Mary asked as her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?"

Sherlock sighed and shifted to the middle seat.

"All right, Shezza?" The young man asked Sherlock.

"Shezza?" John laughed, surprised and amazed at the ridiculous name.

"I was undercover," Sherlock said, irritated.

"Seriously," Mary commented, looking at Sherlock through the rearview mirror "'Shezza', though?"

"Again, I was undercover," Sherlock tried to defend himself again. He took out a handkerchief and began to wipe away the dirt from his face.

John pulled out his phone and started to dial a number. "We're not going home. We're going to Bart's. I'm calling Molly,"

"Why?" Mary asked.

John turned around to look at the detective. "Because Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar,"

Mary nodded, "I should phone Alice,"

Sherlock immediately stopped wiping away the dirt. "Don't," He interjected.

Mary turned around to face Sherlock, surprised by the sudden change of attitude. "Sherlock, If you think that I'm not going to tell your fiancée that-"

"John can tell her later,"

Mary looked at him suspiciously but nodded. She turned her attention over to John and the two shared a worried look before driving away.

Molly pulled off her gloves with a snap as she finished testing Sherlock's urine.

"Well?" John questioned, "Is he clean?"

"Clean?" Molly asked sarcastically. She turned to face Sherlock and slapped him across the face multiple times.

Everyone in the room looked up at the sound of her palm hitting his cheek. Sherlock let out a groan in pain.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with," Molly said, angrily. "And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry,"

Sherlock held his cheek. "Sorry your engagement's over. Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring,"

"Stop it. Just stop it,"

John walked up to Sherlock with a stern face. "If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me,"

"Oh just relax, this is all for a case," Sherlock said, irritated.

"A c... What kind of case would need you to be doing this? What about Alice? Does she know about this?"

Sherlock lowered his head in regret before he looked at John. "I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work,"

John shook his head. "No. We're not playing this game," 

"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it,"

"Not interested,"

"I am," The young man chimed in. "Ow," jerked his arm away from Mary, who was helping him bandage it up.

"Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain," Mary assured

"Yeah, somebody 'it me," 

"Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix," John commented.

"Yes," Sherlock added, looking at John. "I think, in a way, it was,"

"Is it his shirt?" The young man asked.

Sherlock paused and turned to the druggie. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, it's the creases, innit? The two creases down the front. It's been recently folded but it's not new. Must've dressed in a hurry this morning so all your shirts must be kept like that. But why? Maybe 'cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an' then dress in the clothes you brought with you. You keep your shirts folded, ready to pack,"

Sherlock looked amused at the man. "Not bad,"

"An' I further deduce," The man said confidently, "you've only started recently because you've got a bit of chafing,"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "No, he's always walked like that. Remind me, what's your name again?"

"They call me The Wig,"

"No, they don't,"

"Well, they call me Wiggy

"Nope,"

The man looked down. "Bill, Bill Wiggins,"

Sherlock grinned."Nice observational skills, Billy," His attention was quickly diverted to his phone. He looked down and smiled. "Ah! Finally,"

"Finally what?" Molly asked.

"Good news?" Bill asked.

"Oh, excellent news- the best," Sherlock raised his phone to his ear and reached for the door. "There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on!"

Chapter Text

John and Sherlock sat in the back of the taxi. Sherlock, still dressed in his sweats. 

"You've heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course," Sherlock stated, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, he owns some of the papers that I don't read,"

Sherlock frowned and looked around the cab. "Hang on, weren't there other people?"

"Mary's taking the boys home; I'm taking you. We discussed it,"

"People were talking, none of them me, I must have filtered,"

"I noticed," John mumbled.

"I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I've got Mrs. Hudson on a semi-permanent mute,"

"You never answered me, Sherlock. Where's Alice?"

Sherlock ignored John's question and got out of the car. "What is my brother doing here?" he asked, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" John asked as he handed the cabbie a twenty.

Sherlock went up to the doorstep and stared at the door knocker. "He's straightened the knocker," He turned to John who stood behind him. "He always corrects it. He's OCD, doesn't even know he's doing it," Sherlock purposely pushed the knocker to one side before letting himself in.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Nothing," John muttered as he followed Sherlock inside.

Sherlock's attitude changed once he saw his brother casually sitting on the staircase.

"Well then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?" Mycroft taunted.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock questioned, annoyed.

"I phoned him," John piped up. 

"The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy- though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you,"

Sherlock folded his arms and turned to look at John. "You phoned him,"

"'Course I bloody phoned him," John countered.

"'Course he bloody did," Mycroft repeated angrily. "Now save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"We?" Sherlock repeated, frowning.

"Mr. Holmes?" Anderson called from upstairs.

"For God's sake!" Sherlock yelled as he stormed up the stairs, pushing past Mycroft.

Mycroft sighed and he and John followed Sherlock up the stairs.

Sherlock found Anderson and a friend rummaging through his cabinets. Anderson raised his gloved hands apologetically. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's for your own good,"

"Oh, that's him, isn't it?" Anderson's friend asked as she watched Sherlock slump in his armchair. "I thought he'd be taller,"

"Some members of your little fan club," Mycroft explained, looking at Sherlock. "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat. You are a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit,"

Sherlock gave his brother an irritated look. "I do not have a drug habit,"

"Hey, what happened to my chair?" John asked, noticing the empty space in the living room. 

"It was blocking my view of the kitchen," Sherlock answered, curling up into the fetal position in order to fit in his chair better.

"Well, it's good to be missed," John commented sarcastically.

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity,"

"No, you saw the kitchen,"

Mycroft turned to Anderson. "What have you found so far? Clearly nothing,"

"There's nothing to find," Sherlock retorted.

"Your bedroom door is shut," Mycroft observed, slowly walking up to Sherlock's door and placing his hand on the knob. "You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed without direct orders of his mother or-"  

"Okay, stop!" Sherlock yelled out, sitting straight up. 

Mycroft let go of the door and briefly lowered his head in disappointment. 

"Just stop. Point made."

John sighed "Jesus, Sherlock,"

"I'll have to phone our parents, of course," Mycroft informed his brother as he walked back into the living room.

Sherlock sighed as he stood up and walked over to his brother. "This is not what you think. This is for a case,"

"What case could possibly justify this?"

"Magnussen. Charles Augustus Magnussen,"

Mycroft turned to Anderson, immediately becoming the British Government. "That name you think you may have just heard- you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you, on behalf of the British Security Services, that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply- just look frightened and scuttle,"

Anderson immediately ushered his friend out of the flat and closed the door.

Mycroft turned to John, who was standing next to Sherlock. "I hope I won't have to threaten you as well,"

"Well, I think we'd both find that embarrassing," John quipped with a smirk.

Sherlock let out a snort.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned to his brother. "Magnussen is not your business,"

"Oh, you mean he's yours?" Sherlock retorted.

"You may consider him under my protection,"

"I consider you under his thumb,"

"If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me," Mycroft threatened.

"Okay," Sherlock replied nonchalantly. "I'll let you know if I notice," He strode off towards the kitchen and opened the door. "Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah, bye-bye,"

"Unwise, brother mine," Mycroft said as he walked around him.

Instantly, Sherlock grabbed Mycroft's left arm and twisted it up behind his back, slamming his brother face-first against the wall, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Brother mine, don't appal me when I'm high," Sherlock seethed in a venomous tone.

John hurried to Mycroft's side. "Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might," 

Mycroft pushed himself free, picked up his umbrella, and left the flat.

John let out a breath as he turned back to Sherlock. "Uh, Magnussen?"

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked abruptly.

John shrugged "About eight,"

"I'm meeting him in three hours, I need a bath," Sherlock muttered, walking towards the hallway.

"It's for a case you said?"

"Yep," Sherlock said as he headed for the shower.

"What sort of case?"

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in,"

"Are you trying to put me off?"

"God, no. I'm trying to recruit you," Sherlock said as he entered the bathroom. "And stay out of the bedroom!"

Curious, John began to walk down the hallway. He would assume Alice was in there, but knowing her, she would have been at Barts even without a call from either him or Mary. Not only that, but Sherlock kept avoiding talking about her and even Mycroft was suspicious of his younger brother. Things weren't adding up. Just as John was about to open the bedroom door, it was quickly opened by a familiar face. 

"Oh, John," Janine greeted with a smile. "Hi, how are you?" 

"Janine?" John asked in disbelief.

"Sorry; not dressed," She said as she headed towards the kitchen, only wearing one of Sherlock's shirts. "Has everybody gone? I heard shouting,"

"Yes, they're gone,"

Janine looked down at her watch. "God, look at the time. I'll be late,"  She walked into the kitchen and picked up a french press. "Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?"

"Mike?"

"Mike, yeah. His brother, Mike,"

"Mycroft,"

Do people actually call him that?"

"Yeah,"

"Huh," Janine snorted. "They're always fighting. You should have heard them when we first got together,"

"Can't imagine why," John mumbled to himself.

"Could you be a love and put some coffee on?" Janine asked, oblivious to his comment.

"...Sure," John responded, still trying to comprehend the situation.

"Thanks. Ooh, how's Mary? How's married life?"

"She's fine. We're both fine," John said as he turned towards a cupboard.

"Oh, it's over there now," Janine said, pointing to another direction.

John took a moment to think about what Janine had just said. It would take an army or Alice to get Sherlock to agree to change the contents of each cupboard. The last time he agreed to change something in the kitchen was when Alice complained that she was too short to reach anything. 

"Where's Sherl?" Janine asked.

"Sherl?" John asked, amused at the pet name. First Shezza and now Sherl? "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute,"

"Oh, like he ever is," Janine laughed.

John frowned as he watched Janine join Sherlock in the bathroom. He could hear the two chuckle as Janine let out a high-pitched squeak.

***

Alice sat in Mycroft's office, typing on her computer. 

"How bad was it?" Alice asked as Mycroft entered. She stood up, seeing his face in slight pain. "What happened?"

"Payback, for Serbia," Mycroft groaned as he sat down in his chair.

"Why did he go to that drug den? Did you check his arms?"

Mycroft said nothing.

"Did he at least leave a list?" She continued. "Can you tell me anything?"

"He said that his case involved Magnussen,"

Alice lowered her head. "Sherlock, you absolute idiot,"

"I don't know why. I trust that you never told him about our work," Mycroft continued.

"Of course not,"

"What have you found on the parliamentary committee?"

"Magnussen targeted Carvie through his daughter. And then there is Lady Smallwood. She was the one who went to Sherlock. Magnussen knows about her husband's affair,"

"How?"

"He's like Moriarty, a Napoleon. But instead of crime, it's blackmail," 

Mycroft took in her face. "What are you thinking about?"

Alice began to pace in the small office. "Magnussen is trying to destroy as many people as possible. He knows damn well that Sherlock's weakness wouldn't be drugs- not now. I believe his end goal is you, Mycroft. It just so helps that the easiest way to get you you is through Sherlock. The most obvious way to get to Sherlock would be through me. But instead, Magnussen is playing a different game by destroying John and Mary,"

"Why Mary?"

"She's like me. We've worked together before. Magnussen sent her a telegram at the wedding, he knows something," Alice paused for a second and turned her attention back to Mycroft. "I thought you did background checks on all your brother's friends and acquaintances,"

"Just those living within close proximity and who choose to risk their lives by joining him on cases,"

"So just Lestrade, myself, and John?"

"And Mrs. Hudson of course. Though that was more to make sure she could handle Sherlock's experiments,"

"And you didn't think to just take a brief look into the woman that was entering your brother's life by marrying his best friend?"

"I don't bother diving into every single detail about John Watson's life. Mind you, they began their courtship while you were away in America," There was a brief pause before Mycroft continued. "Does Sherlock know about Mary's past? About who and what she was?"

"No, not to my knowledge. She has done a good job of hiding her past life. Granted, she did more than I did. I am sure you can pull up the files on her and the rest of us,"

The two stood in silence. Alice looked into Mycroft's eyes and observed his body stance. Poker face, non-dominant hand in front, balance shift. "What else happened at the flat?" She asked in a nervous whisper. "What are you refusing to tell me?"

Chapter Text

John sat patiently on the edge of the coffee table. He watched as Sherlock and Janine prepared for their day. It was weird seeing Sherlock act this way with anyone other than Alice yet still, something seemed off.

"So," Sherlock began casually as he pulled on his suit jacket. "It's just a guess, but you've got some questions,"

"Yeah," John said slowly. "I've got a few,"

"Naturally," Sherlock affirmed as he sat down in his armchair.

"You have a new girlfriend... who isn't Alice..."

"Yes, I have" Sherlock replied as if it were obvious. "Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John, stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes... that's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, and serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen,"

"Yes, you have?" John questioned.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"You have a girlfriend... who isn't your fiancée," He paused, still trying to come to terms with the new information. "You and Janine?"

"Yes, yes. I'm going out with Janine. I thought that was fairly obvious,"

"But I mean you are in a relationship with Janine. It took you almost a year of knowing Alice before you even asked her out. And you've known Janine for a little over a month..." John trailed off "Care to elaborate?"

"Well, we're in a good place. It's... very affirming,"

"You got that from a book," John accused.

"Everyone got that from a book,"

"Okay, you two bad boys," Janine said as she walked into the living room, ready for work. "Behave yourselves," Sherlock smiled as she sat down on the arm of his chair. "And you, Sherl, you're gonna have to tell me where you were last night,"

"Working," Sherlock answered.

"Working," Janine repeated, "Of course. I'm the only one who knows what you're really like, remember?"

John couldn't help but tilt his head at her statement. Janine seemed kind and tolerant enough to deal with Sherlock's constant ramblings and arguments with the television. But even he had would get uncomfortable with the dismembered body parts in the fridge and dangerous experiments in the kitchen.

"Don't you go letting on," Sherlock whispered. He gently ran his finger down the tip of her nose and laid his hand on her arm.

"I might just, actually," Janine flirted before turning to John. "I haven't told Mary about this. I kind of wanted to surprise her," 

"Yeah, you probably will," John replied. You definitely will. 

"But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!" Janine suggested cheerfully. "My place, though- not the scuzz-dump,"

"Great, yeah! Dinner! Yeah," John mumbled.

"Oh, I'd better dash," Janine said, looking at her watch again. "It was brilliant to see you," 

"You too,"

John watched Sherlock escort Janine to the living room door, opening it for her.

"Have a lovely day. Call me later," Sherlock said while Janine played with the edge of his jacket. John couldn't help but stare in utter amazement and disbelief at the scene in front of him.

"I might call you- unless I meet someone prettier," Janine flirted. "Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes," Janine whispered before they kissed.

As soon as Janine left the flat, Sherlock's smile disappeared.

"You know Charles Augustus Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he is so much more than that. He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more information he acquires, the greater his wealth and power," Sherlock said as he opened his laptop. "I am not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. And he's created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge and its name is Appledore," Sherlock turned the screen to show John the image of Appledore and its blueprints,"

"Dinner," John said flatly.

"Sorry, what?"

"Me and Mary, coming for dinner... with wine... and sitting,"

"Seriously? I've just told you that the Western world is run from this house and you want to talk about dinner?"

John contemplated whether or not he wanted to slap Sherlock à la Molly or react in the same manner he did when Sherlock came back from the dead. Either way, Sherlock needed some common sense forced back into him and it would have to be either him, Mary, or Alice, to make sure it happened.

"Actually, I want to talk about you. I don't hear from you for a month, find you in a drug den and upon bringing you home after discovering that you're high, I also find out you're in a new relationship with someone who isn't your fiancée. Apologies for being a little confused," John stated, his hurt and anger coming out more and more. "And what about Alice? You've refused to talk about her all morning. What happened? Where the bloody hell is she?" He demanded, his voice getting louder as he asked more questions.

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted.

"What do you mean 'You don't know'? You're you! You have analysed 243 different types of tobacco ash and know how to fake your death. How do you not know where she is?"

"She left after the wedding. She took everything out of our bedroom and her flat downstairs was untouched. All she left was her ring and a note saying that she had to leave in order to protect us,"

"What do you mean she left to protect us?"

"I don't know. Alice has been open about her past, but there could be more. But I think we can all agree that my relationship with Janine is far better than me actually taking on a drug habit,"

John took a deep breath. "Fine," He said in a calmer tone, "Talk about the house,"

Sherlock sighed and turned back to his laptop. "Appledore is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world. It is the Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals- and none of it is on a computer. He's smart- computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy vaults underneath the house. And as long as those files are there, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy,"

"Ooh-ooh," Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, interrupting their conversation. "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing,"

"That's the first normal thing I've heard you say all morning," John muttered before turning his attention to his favourite landlady. "Who is it?"

Mrs. Hudson drew in an anxious breath.

Chapter Text

Sherlock and John watched as three security officers entered the flat. Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance as he spread out his arms. "Oh, go ahead," A security guard stepped forward and started to pat him down.

"Sir?" Another guard said to John.

"Can I have a moment?" John asked.

"Oh, he's fine," Sherlock commented.

The security guard glanced at Sherlock before he started to frisk John.

"Er... right. I should probably tell you..." John was interrupted by the guard pulling out Bill's flick-knife. "Okay... that, And..." The guard proceeded to pull out the tire lever from John's pocket. 

"Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you," John tried to joke.

"I can vouch for this man," Sherlock said to the guards. "He's a doctor. If you know who I am then you know who he is," Sherlock turned to the man at the door. "Don't you, Mr. Magnussen?"

The guard who searched John stepped to John's side while Sherlock's guard stood at his side. The third guard waited in the kitchen.

"I understood we were meeting at your office," Sherlock continued.

Charles Augustus Magnussen looked around the living room. "This is my office," He sat down on the sofa and eyed John.

John Hamish Watson

Afghan Veteran (See File)

G.P. (See File)

Porn Preference: Normal

Finances: 10% Debt (See File)

Status Unimportant

PRESSURE POINT:

Harry Watson (Sister) Alcoholic

Mary Morstan (Wife) (See file)

"Well, it is now," Magnussen continued as he picked up a newspaper.

"Mr. Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters," Sherlock began. "Some time ago you... put pressure on her concerning those letters. She would like those letters back," He was careful with his wording.

Magnussen looked up at Sherlock from his paper.

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting Detective

Porn Preference: Normal

Finances: Unknown

Brother: Mycroft Holmes

M.I.6 (See File)

Officially Deceased 2011-2013

Pressure Point:

Irene Adler (See File)

Jim Moriarty (See File)

Redbeard (See File)

Hounds of Baskerville 

Opium

John Watson

Alice Whitmer (See File)

"Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind..." Sherlock trailed off, hearing Magnussen's snort. "Something I said?"

"No, no- I was reading," Magnussen answered, touching his glasses. "There's rather a lot. Redbeard,"

Sherlock's mouth opened slightly.

"Sorry, you were probably talking,"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I was trying to explain that I have been asked to act on behalf of..."

Magnussen turned his attention to one of his security guards. "Bathroom?"

"Along from the kitchen, sir," The guard replied.

"Okay,"

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock stated more firmly. "I am aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents..."

"Is it like the rest of the flat?" Magnussen asked his guard as he gestured around the room. "The bathroom,"

"Yes, sir," The guard replied.

"Maybe not, then," Magnussen murmured.

"Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Sherlock asked.

"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, I like her," Magnussen murmured as he looked out the window.

"Mr. Magnussen," Sherlock said with more force. "am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English with a spine," Magnussen continued, pushing the coffee table with his foot as he stood up. "Best thing about the English, you're so domesticated. All standing around, apologizing, and keeping your little heads down. You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you,"

Magnussen looked down and began to urinate into the fireplace. John's face was full of horror and disgust while Sherlock simply faced forward.

"You can do what you like here. A nation of herbivores," Magnussen continued as he zipped up his pants. "I've interests all over the world but everything starts in England. If it works here, I'll try in a real country," The security guard next to John held out a packet of wet wipes. Magnussen took one as he walked back through Sherlock and John. "The United Kingdom: a Petri dish to the Western world. Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters so I'm keeping them," He finished wiping his fingers and dropped the wet wipe on the floor. "Goodbye,"

Magnussen and his guards began to leave when he paused and reached into his jacket, revealing a bundle of letters. "Anyway, they're funny," He smirked and left the flat with his security team following close behind.

"Jesus!" John furiously exclaimed as he stepped forward, happy that they were gone.

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock asked in amazement.

John motioned to the fireplace. "There was a specific moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah. Poor Mrs. Hudson is going to throw a fit once she gets in here,"

"Exactly- when he showed us the letters," Sherlock walked across the room with a smile on his face.

John closed his eyes in disbelief. "...Okay,"

"So he's brought the letters to London- so no matter what he says, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weakness: their pressure point. Clearly, he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat,"

"You sure about that?" 

Sherlock watched as Magnussen's car sped off. "And because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten,"

"How do you know his schedule?"

"Because I do," Sherlock turned back towards John. "Right, I'll see you tonight. I've got some shopping to do," He said before heading down the stairs.

"And we're back to being suspicious. You don't shop!" John called after him. "And what's tonight?"

"I'll text instructions," 

"Yeah, I'll text you if I'm available," 

"You are! I checked with Mary,"

"Don't bring a gun," Sherlock instructed as they walked out of the front door.

"Why would I bring a gun?"

"Or a knife, or a tire lever. Probably best not to do any arm-spraining, but we'll see how the night goes," Sherlock joked as he hailed a cab.

"You're just assuming that I'm coming along?"

"Time you got out of the house, John. You've put on seven pounds since you got married and the cycling isn't doing it,"

"It's actually four pounds," John corrected.

"Mary and I think seven. see you later," Sherlock added before giving his destination to the cabbie. "Hatton Garden,"

Chapter Text

Later that evening, John waited for Sherlock in the foyer of the CAM Global News building. His afternoon was busy talking with Mary about Sherlock's new relationship. Even she was surprised at the mere idea that Sherlock had moved on. 

John casually listened to the newscaster on the television talking about John Garvie being arrested after being charged with corruption.

"Magnussen's office is on the top floor, just below his private flat," Sherlock said, causing the doctor to slightly jump in surprise. "There are fourteen levels of security between us and him, two of which aren't even legal in this country," Sherlock looked over at the security card readers next to the elevators. "Want to know how we're going to break in?"

"Is that what we're doing?"

"Of course it's what we're doing," Sherlock said as he turned and walked towards an escalator.

"Magnussen's private lift," Sherlock explained as the arrived at an elevator on the next floor. "It goes straight to the penthouse and his office. Only he uses it and only his key card calls the lift. Security is automatically informed if anyone else even tries," Sherlock pulled out a key card and showed it to John. "Standard key card for the building. I nicked it yesterday, it'll only get us as far as the canteen. If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?"

John shrugged. "The alarms would go off and you'd be dragged away by security,"

"Exactly,"

"Get taken to a small room somewhere and your head kicked in," John continued.

Sherlock looked at his best friend. "Do we really need so much colour?"

John shrugged. "It passes the time,"

"But if I do this..."  Sherlock pressed the security card against his phone, "If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It's a common problem, hence why they always tell you to never put your key card with your phone. What happens if I use the card now?"

"It still doesn't work,"

"But it doesn't read as the wrong card now. It registers as corrupted. But if it's corrupted, how do they know it's not Magnussen? Would they risk dragging him off?"

"Probably not,"

"So what do they do? What do they have to do?"

"Check if it's him or not,"

"There's a camera at eye height to the right of the door. A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office- the only people trusted to make a positive ID. And at this hour, almost certainly his PA,"

"So how will that help us?" 

"Human error," Sherlock smiled and patted his breast pocket. "I've been shopping. Here we go, then," Sherlock pressed the card against the reader, causing it to beep in error.

"You realize you don't exactly look like Magnussen,"

"Which in this case is a considerable advantage," Sherlock replied as she smiled at the camera.

John sighed in confusion but froze when he heard a familiar voice.

"Sherlock, you complete loon! What are you doing?" A familiar Irish voice said on the intercom.

"Hang on, was that...? That's-!" John began to say in disbelief. Of course.

Sherlock lifted his hand to cut John off. "Hi, Janine," He said to the camera "Go on, let me in,"

"I can't! You know I can't. Don't be silly," Janine replied.

"Don't make me do it here," Sherlock glanced around at the other office workers. "Not in front of everyone,"

"Do what in front of everyone?" Janine questioned.

John stared in shock and horror as Sherlock pulled out a small velvet box, opening it up to reveal a diamond ring. Part of him was relieved that it wasn't the ring that Sherlock had proposed to Alice with at Christmas. His emotions turned into anger as they stepped into the elevator.

"You see?" Sherlock said as the elevator doors opened for them "As long as there are people, there's always a weak spot,"

"That was Janine," John commented.

"Yes, of course it was Janine. She's Magnussen's PA. That's the whole point,"

"Did you just propose to her in order to break into an office?"

"Yeah. Stoke of luck, meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit,"

"Jesus, Sherlock! She cares about you," John glared at Sherlock as the elevator began to rise. "What are you gonna do?"

"Well, not actually marry Janine, obviously. There's only so far you can go,"

"So what will you tell her?"

"Well, I'll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss' office and that I am currently engaged to another woman. I imagine she'll want to stop seeing me at that point,"

"If you're still engaged," John pointed out. "Did you even think about what you are going to tell Alice when she finds out what you have been up to this past month?"

Sherlock didn't respond. The elevator doors opened and the two men got out.

"Where did she go?" John asked as they walked into an empty office.

"It's a bit rude. I just proposed to her," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," John called as he walked over to Janine's body lying by the windows.

"Did she faint? Do they actually do that?"

"You nearly did so when I asked you to be my best man," John placed his hand on her forehead and found a  few drops of blood on his fingers. "It's a blow to the head. She's breathing. Janine?"

Sherlock walked across the office "Another in here," He called out. "Security,"

"Does he need help?" John asked, still watching over Janine.

"Judging by the tattoo: ex-con and white supremacist, so who cares. Stick with Janine for now,"

John nodded and focused on his patient.

Sherlock walked over to the nearby desk, touching the leather seat. 35º C  "Magnussen's here, his seat's still warm. He should be at dinner but he's still in the building. Upstairs!"

"We should call the police," John whispered.

"Durning our own burglary?" Sherlock asked, "You're really not a natural at this, are you?"

"You'd think by now I would be after almost four years of knowing you," John sighed and placed his phone back in his pocket.

"No, wait, shh!" Sherlock said in a loud whisper before sniffing a familiar scent. He quickly tried to identify it.

Chanel No 5

"Perfume- not Janine's." Sherlock thought out loud.

Prada

Dior- Alice?

Sherlock shook his head and thought harder.

Clair-de-la-Lune

"Clair-de-la-lune! Why do I know it?" Sherlock asked.

"Mary wears it,"

"No, not Mary. Somebody else," Sherlock lifted his head, hearing a noise. 

"Sherlock!" John whisper-called as the detective headed upstairs.

As he walked along the carpeted hallway of Charles Magnussen's private flat, Sherlock could hear Magnussen's shaking voice.

"Coming here? What- what would your husband thin, eh?" Magnussen's tearful voice asked. "He... your lovely husband, upright, honourable... so English. What- what would he say to you now?"

Standing in front of Magnussen was someone dressed in all black with black gloves. They cocked the gun before aiming it at Magnussen.

"Nej, Nej!" Magnussen cried out in his native tongue. "You're doing this to protect him from the truth... but is this protection he would want?"

Sherlock slowly pushed open the door and walked into the room, standing only a few feet behind the person holding the gun. "Additionally, if you are going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume, Lady Smallwood,"

Magnussen looked at Sherlock, confused. "Sorry, who? That is not... Lady Smallwood, Mr. Holmes,"

The gunman turned around, revealing herself to be Mary Watson.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He had suspected that she was hiding something when they first met. He even did background checks on everyone that attended the wedding so no one would hurt-

"Is John with you?" Mary asked, pointing her gun silencer at Sherlock's chest.

"He's um..." Sherlock began to stutter, still stunned to register what had just happened.

"Is John here? Mary asked again.

"He's- he's downstairs,"

Mary nodded.

"So, what do you do now?" Magnussen asked softly. "Kill us both?"

Sherlock stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Mary, whatever he's got on you, let me help,"

"Oh, Sherlock," Mary smiled humorlessly. "If you take one more step I swear I will kill you,"

"No, Mrs. Watson, you won't,"

Just as Sherlock began to lift his foot off the floor, Mary pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit under his right chest and blood began to pour out.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Truly am," Mary said, her voice almost tearful.

"Mary?"

Chapter Text

The bullet hit right under his right chest.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Truly am," Mary said, her voice almost tearful.

Sherlock could hear an alarm blaring and he felt as if he was running down flights of stairs. 

"It's not like in the movies," Molly said as she appeared in his Mind Palace. "There's not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards. The impact isn't spread over a wide area,"

Suddenly they were in a brightly lit white mortuary room and Molly walked over to a sheet-covered body on a table.

"It's tightly focused, so there's little or no energy transfer," She pulled back the sheet to reveal Sherlock's body with the bullet hole. "You stay still and the bullet pushes through. You're almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus. It's all well and clever having a Mind Palace, but you've only three second s of consciousness left to use it. So, what's going to kill you?"

Sherlock looked down at his dead body, "Blood loss," He replied as he raised his head.

"Exactly. So, it's all about one thing now: forwards or backwards?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and found himself back in Magnussen's office.

"We need to decide which way you're going to fall,"

"One hole, or two?" Anderson asked as he appeared in the office.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked.

"Is the bullet still inside you, or is there an exit wound?" Molly explained. "It'll depend on the gun,"

Immediately, Sherlock began to try to identify Mary's gun.

"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted. "It doesn't matter about the gun. Don't be stupid,"

"I'm not stupid," Sherlock protested as a young boy.

"You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?"

"I've not been murdered yet!" Young Sherlock argued.

"Balance of probability, little brother. I f the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?" 

"The mirror shattering," Sherlock answered.

"You didn't. Therefore..."

"The bullet's still inside me,"

"So, we need to take him down backwards," Anderson said.

"I agree," Molly commented. "Sherlock, you need to fall on your back,"

"Right now, the bullet is the cork in the bottle. The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow. But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it," Anderson explained.

"Plus, on your back, gravity is working for us. Sherlock, fall now," Molly instructed.

Sherlock did as he was told.

The alarms started to become louder as he went into shock. He was back in the white mortuary room.

"What the hell is that?" Sherlock asked, covering his ears with his hands. "What's happening?"

"You're going into shock," Molly explained. "It is the next thing that's going to kill you,"

"What do I do?" Sherlock asked.

"Don't go into shock, obviously," Mycroft stated. "There must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down, find it."

He ran towards the soft sounds of a piano playing. The music grew louder and louder as he approached a  large set of doors. Without any hesitation, the doors opened for him. In the small room, Alice sat in a simple armchair.

"Alice," Sherlock breathed out with the most relief he had felt since she accepted his proposal.

Her eyes had the same fire in them as they did when she spoke to Irene Adler in Mycroft's office two years ago. The fire and emotions that both intrigued and frightened him.  "I'm sorry, Sherlock," He heard her whisper. Behind her walked up Moriarty in all his glory, looking the same as he did at the pool. He looked down and saw a sniper's laser on his chest right where the bullet hit him.

Sherlock felt as if he was running down the staircase again. 

"The East Wind is coming, Sherlock," Mycroft's voice taunted. "It's coming to get you.

Sherlock found himself standing in front of Mary in her wedding dress, her pistol aiming at him. Next to her was a blurry figure that he wanted to make out. Before he could walk any closer, Mary fired her gun. 

"Find it," Mycroft said again.

Sherlock ran to a nearby door and opened it up. Lying on the ground was an Irish setter. 

"Hello, Redbeard," Sherlock said to the dog, leaning down and patting the top of his legs. "Come to me. It's all right," The dog ran up to Sherlock and began to lick his face. "They're putting me down too, now. It's no fun, is it?"

Back in Magnussen's flat, Sherlock began to convulse on the floor, his face in agony. He wanted to open his mouth and scream.

Sherlock heard Molly's voice again. "Without the shock, you're going to feel the pain. There's a hole ripped through you. You have to control the pain.

Sherlock began to run down a flight of stairs until he reached the bottom and ran into a circular room with padded walls.

Moriarty sat across from him in a straightjacket and metal collar.

"You!" Sherlock hissed, "You never felt pain, why did you never feel pain?"

Moriarty slowly turned his head towards Sherlock. "You always feel it, Sherlock," His face was murderous. He tried to lunge at Sherlock but his collar was connected to the wall by a chain, forcing him to stop only inches away. "But you don't have to fear it!"

Sherlock rolled over onto the floor, crying out in pain.

"Pain. Heartbreak. Loss," Moriarty continued as he stared at the detective. "Death. It's all good,"

"Sherlock?" John asked as he gently patted Sherlock's face. "Can you hear me?" He turned towards Magnussen, who was lying on the floor. "What happened?"

"He got shot," Magnussen answered weakly.

John opened Sherlock's coat and saw blood around the bullet wound. "Sherlock!" He turned back to Magnussen, who had just put on his glasses. "Who shot him?"

Magnussen refused to answer and John pulled out his phone, calling an ambulance.

Sherlock continued to convulse on the floor of the padded cell.

"It's raining, it's pouring, Sherlock is boring," Moriarty began to sing. "I'm laughing, I'm crying, Sherlock is dying,"

John sat in the ambulance as the paramedics tore open Sherlock's shirt and placed an oxygen mask over his mouth. "We're losing you. Sherlock?"

"Come on, Sherlock," Moriarty said softly, "Just die, why can't you? One little push and off you pop,"

Sherlock's body lied on the operating table. The heart monitor beside him let out a single tone. 

"You're gonna love being dead, Sherlock," Moriarty said as he heard the flatline. "No one ever bothers you. Mrs. Hudson will cry, and Mummy and Daddy will cry, and John will cry, and poor Alice will cry buckets and buckets. It's her that I worry about the most. No one left to care for her- not like the way you and I did. And then there's Mary. You've just found out about her. You're letting them down, Sherlock. John and Alice are definitely in danger,"

Sherlock rolled over and began to try to get up. He groaned as he slammed his hand onto the floor, forcing himself onto one elbow.

"Oh, you're not getting better, are you?" Moriarty commented.

Sherlock slumped against the wall as he pulled himself onto his feet.

"Was it something I said?"

Sherlock glared back at Jim, grunting as he pushed open the door behind him. "John!" He yelled. "Alice!"

A blip was heard on the heart monitor.

Sherlock began to climb the staircase, leaning against the bannisters on each flight. "JOHN! ALICE! ALICE!"

The surgeon turned to his patient, surprised. The heart monitor blip as Sherlock lifted his left index finger ever so slightly. The heart monitor began to blip regularly. The surgeon looked down at him and Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes, breathing out a single word:

"Mary,"

Chapter Text

Mary hurried into the hospital lobby the next morning. "Hey," She breathed as she met her husband at the top of the stairs.

"He's only bloody woken up!" John said, relieved. "He's pulled through,"

"Really?" Mary asked, surprised. "Seriously?"

"Oh, you, Mrs. Watson," John accused, pointing a finger at her, "You're in big trouble,"

Mary frowned. "Why?"

"His first word when he woke up: Mary,"

Mary let out a light laugh. "Ahh,"

John pulled Mary in for a tight and happy hug. His face was full of relief while Mary's grew serious.

"You don't tell him," Mary softly said to a half-conscious Sherlock. "You don't tell John," 

She slowly walked towards him, her image still fuzzy in his eyes. "Look at me- and tell me you're not gonna tell him,"

*

Sherlock sat in his hospital bed. His room was full of vases of flowers.

"They're not all from me," Magnussen said from the doorway. "Those struggling carnations are from Scotland Yard," He walked further into the room, closing the door behind him. "And the single rose is from 'W'. The black wreath is from Pentonville. I'm not sure the intents was entirely kind," Magnussen proceeded to sit down in the chair on the right of Sherlock. "Having shot you, the woman you know as Mary Watson left without killing me. Which is odd, considering that was the reason she came," He stood back up and bent down, bringing his face very close to Sherlock's. "I didn't pass her identity to the police. Information like that is just too malleable to be shared. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as Magnussen headed for the door. 

"Same could go for your precious fiancée," Magnussen added before leaving the hospital room.

*

"I'm buying a cottage," Janine announced as she rifled through newspapers at the end of the hospital bed. "I made a lot of money out of you, Mister. Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profit,"

Sherlock lifted one of the papers to look at it. "You didn't give these stories to Magnussen, did you?"

"God, no- one of his rivals. He was spittin',"

Sherlock snorted and smiled a bit.

Janine looked angrily at him. "Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard,"

"And you..." Sherlock said, raising the bed so that he was in sitting up. "...as it turns out, are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore,"

"So we're good then?" Janine asked, slightly smiling.

"Yeah, of course," He shrugged. "Where's the cottage?"

"Sussex Downs,"

"Hmm, nice. Might retire there once all this is all over,"

"It's gorgeous. There are beehives, but I'm getting rid of those,"

Sherlock winced in pain as he tried to push himself higher on the bed.

"Aw, hurts, does it?" Janine asked in a mocking tone. "Probably wanna restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps,"

How much more revenge are you going to need?" Sherlock asked as he turned up his morphine to the near maximum amount.

"Just the occasional top-up," She looked around the room and let out a slight laugh. "Dream come true for you, this place. They actually attach the drugs to you,"

"Not good for working,"

"You won't be working for a while, Sherl. You lied to me. You lied and lied,"

"I exploited the fact of our connection,"

"When?" Janine scoffed. "Just once would have been nice,"

"I was waiting until we got married,"

"That was never gonna happen and you and I both know why," Janine walked over and kissed him on the forehead. "Got to go, I'm not supposed to keep you talking," She said as she wiped her lipstick off his skin with her finger. "And I also have an interview with 'The One Show' and I haven't made it up yet,"

"Just one thing," She added as she walked towards the door. "You shouldn't have lied to me nor should you have taken advantage of my kindness and feelings. I know what kind of man you are and we could have been friends,"

*

Sherlock lowered his morphine and began to enter his mind palace.

"Mary Watson, who are you"

*

"I don't know how much sense you'll get out of him," John said as he and Lestrade headed up the hospital stairs later that week. "He's drugged up, so he's pretty much babbling," He gestured to the phone in Lestrade's hand.  "Oh, they won't let you use that here,"

"I'm not gonna use the phone, I just want to take a video," Lestrade said with a wide smile. 

Their smiles dropped instantly when they opened the door to find an empty bed a missing bag of morphine, and an open window.

"Oh, Jesus," John sighed.

*

"So where would he go?" Mary asked into her phone.

"Oh, Christ knows," John replied as he and Lestrade headed out of the hospital. "Finding Sherlock in London without Alice's help is near impossible. We're going to ask around," He ended the call and turned to Lestrade.

"He has three known bolt holes: Parliament Hill, Camden Lock, and Dagmar Court,"

*

"Five known bolt holes," Mycroft corrected as Greg stood across from him. "There's the blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens and the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetary," Mycroft looked up at the detective inspector and waved him away.

*

"Just the spare bed- well, my bedroom. We agreed that he needs the space," Molly admitted

*

"Behind the clock face of Big Ben," Mrs. Hudson suggested.

"I think he might have been joking about that one," John replied, unsure if that would be even possible for Sherlock.

"I don't think so,"

*

"Leinster Gardens," Anderson informed Mary. "That's his number one bolt hole. It's top-top secret,"

*

Lestrade watched John pace in the living room of 221b. "He knew who shot him. The bullet wound was here," John pointed to his chest. "So he was facing whoever it was,"

"So why not tell us?" Lestrade asked. "Because he's tracking them down himself?"

John turned back to the Scotland Yarder. "Or protecting them,"

"Protecting the shooter? Why?"

"Well, protecting someone, then. Who would Sherlock go this far protect?" John asked as he sat down in his armchair. He looked down, confused.

"Could it have been Alice? I haven't heard from her in a while,"

"No," John concluded. "Alice could easily handle herself. It has to be someone else,"

"Call me if you hear anything," Lestrade said as headed for the door. "Don't hold out on me,"

John nodded and Lestrade left the flat.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson said from the kitchen. "Need a cuppa?"

"Mrs. Hudson, why does Sherlock think that I'll be moving back in here?"

"Oh, he's put your chair back again, hasn't he? That's nice," Mrs. Hudson walked over to him with the kettle. "Looks so much better,"

"Hmm," John stared at the crescent-shaped perfume bottle on the table beside him.

"John?"

John looked away from the bottle and turned his head towards the window. He frowned as he turned to the bottle again.

"John, it's Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson walked towards him with his phone. "You have to answer it,"

But John didn't respond, he was too focused on the perfume bottle. 

Clair-de-la-Lune

The crescent moon illuminated the sky as Mary walked along Leinster Terrace towards Leinster Gardens. 

"Spare any change, love?" A homeless man asked as she passed him on the corner.

"No," Mary replied firmly, not stopping to look at him.

"Oh come on, love," The homeless man pleaded. "Don't be like all the rest,"

Mary paused and turned back to him, he pulled out some loose change from her coat and bent down to drop it in the beggar's plastic jug. Before she could withdraw her hand, the beggar revealed himself to be Bill Wiggins.

"Rule One of looking for Sherlock 'olmes, 'e finds you," Bill said as he placed a cell phone and earpiece in her hand. Bill stood up with the jug in his hand.

"You're working for Sherlock now?" Mary questioned.

"Keeps me off the streets, dunnit?"

"Well, no,"

Bill turned and walked away. The phone he handed her began to ring and she slipped the earpiece in and answered the call.

"Where are you?" Mary asked as she kept walking.

"Can't you see me?" Sherlock asked over the phone.

"Well, what am I looking for?"

"The lie- the lie of Leinster Gardens- hidden in plain sight. Hardly anyone notices. People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I know you are, it'll take you less than a minute," Mary paused and looked around. The streets were empty. "The houses, Mary. Look at the houses," Sherlock instructed.

"How did you know I'd come here?"

"I knew you would talk to the people no one else would bother with,"

Marly let out a light laugh. "I thought I was being clever,"

"You're always clever, Mary. I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find. Anderson isn't the best at being sneaky,"

"Oh," Mary stopped walking and turned to face two houses that had caught her attention. 

"Thirty seconds,"

"What am I looking at?"

"No doorknobs, no letterboxes, and painted windows," Sherlock said as Mary walked closer to the houses. "23 and 24 Leinster Gardens: the empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains. It's just a façade. Remind you of anyone Mary? A façade?"

Instantly, a picture of Mary from the wedding was projected onto the front of the houses. 

"Sorry," Sherlock apologized, "I never could resist a touch of drama. Do come in, it's a little cramped,"

"Do you own this place?" Mary asked as she walked towards the houses.

"I won it in a card game with the Clarence House Cannibal," One of the doors opened slightly and Mary walked towards it. "Nearly cost me my kidneys but fortunately, I had a straight flush,"

Mary pushed open the door and walked inside. All that was left of the house was a dimly lit long concrete hallway. The only other thing was a figure sitting in a chair at the end of the hallway in front of her.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" Mary asked.

"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetary where five years ago- in 2009- you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity. That is why you don't have friends from before that date. It's an old technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight and have extraordinary retentive memories,"

Mary stood halfway along the narrow corridor. "You were very slow, given your reputation,"

"How good of a shot are you?"

Mary reached into her coat and pulled out her pistol, cocking it. "How badly do you want to find out?"

"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that. I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show me. The doctor's wife must be a little bored by now,"

Mary took out a 50 pence coin and flicked it into the air. She raised her gun to it and fired. The coin fell by her feet.

"May I see?" Sherlock asked as turned his phone off behind her.

Mary looked at the shadowy figure at the end of the hallway and removed her earpiece. "It's a dummy. I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick," She reached out to the coin with her foot and slid it across the floor the Sherlock, who bent down and picked it up.

"And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot," Sherlock held up the coin to view the hole caused by the bullet. "Enough to hospitalize me; not enough to kill me. It wasn't a miss. It was surgery," He turned to look at Mary, her eyes lowered to the ground. "I'll take the case,"

Mary looked up at him. "What case?"

"Yours," Sherlock stiffened. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever- and Sherlock, I will never let that happen," She then turned to Alice who had appeared behind Sherlock. "Please understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that from happening,"

"Sorry," Sherlock said as he flipped a light switch. "Not that obvious a trick,"

Mary's face filled with horror as she turned around to face John, who got up from his seat and walked past her. Her breaths became louder and her eyes began to fill with tears.

"Baker Street, now," Sherlock told the group.

John and Sherlock exited the building while Alice walked over to Mary, who was fighting off the tears desperate to be released. "We've played the game for long enough. It's time," Alice said softly. 

Chapter Text

John angrily entered 221b with Mary following shortly behind him.

"John," Mrs. Hudson said from the kitchen. "Mary," 

Mary simply gave her a small smile. Alice helped Sherlock up the steps and into 221b.

"Oh, Sherlock, Alice!" Mrs. Hudson cried, shocked at Sherlock's current state. "Sherlock, good gracious, you look terrible,"

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I've run out," Sherlock gritted, repressing his pain.

"I don't have any morphine,"

"Then what exactly is the point of you?" He asked abruptly.

Mrs. Hudson looked around at the four of them. "What is going on?"

"Bloody good question," John mumbled.

Sherlock looked at his former flatmate then at Mrs. Hudson. "The Watsons are about to have a domestic- and fairly quickly I hope- because we have work to do,"

"Let him have this," Alice stated quietly. "John needs to get this out,"

"Oh, I have a better question," John countered as he looked at his wife. "Is everyone I've ever met a psychopath?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered. Mary nodded in agreement. "Good that we've settled that. Anyway, we-"

"Shut up!" John interrupted, turning to Sherlock. "And stay shut up, because this is not funny. Not this time," John turned back to his wife. "You. What have I ever done... hmm? What have I done in my whole life... to deserve you?" His voice was full of anger.

"Everything," Sherlock replied, still leaning heavily on Alice in the doorway. 

"Sherlock, I've told you to shut up," John said in the same dark tone as he walked up to the detective.

"I mean it. Everything. Everything you've ever done is what you did,"

"Sherlock," John said slowly and deeply. "One more word and you will not need to steal anymore morphine,"

"You were a doctor who went to war," Sherlock began to explain softly. "You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me, by the way. Hello," Sherlock gave a little wave then gestured to Alice. "Your other best friend is an ex-CIA agent who caught the eye of one of the most dangerous criminals and is currently engaged to your sociopath friend. Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel,"

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing," Mrs. Hudson stressed.

"And exotic dancing," Sherlock added.

"Sherlock Holmes, if you've been YouTubing-"

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're attracted to dangerous situations and people. So, is it truly a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"

John suppressed his tears. "But she wasn't supposed to be like that. Why is she like that?"

"Because you chose her,"  Sherlock spoke softly as he looked into John's eyes.

John breathed heavily as he turned away. "Why is everything... always... MY FAULT?" He yelled as he kicking the side table.

"Oh, the neighbours!" Mrs. Hudson cried, hurrying away.

"John," Alice said quietly. "I understand you are angry and you have every right to be angry with us. But please listen. I want you to answer me. What is she?"

"My lying wife," He fumed. "The woman who's carrying my child and who has lied to me since the day I met her?"

"No, not in this flat, not in this room, but right here, right now. What is she?"

John looked at Alice and took a deep breath. He grabbed a chair from the table and placed it between the armchairs, in front of the coffee table and sofa. 

"Sit," He instructed.

"Why?" Mary asked quietly.

"Because that is where they sit," John answered in an angry whisper. "The people who come in here with their stories. Clients- that's all you are now. You're a client. This is where you sit and talk and this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not," John sat down in his armchair.

Alice slowly helped Sherlock into his chair before standing next to Mary, who sat down in the client's chair. Sherlock was confused at Alice's actions, he had expected her to sit next to him and take notes. He knew that Alice was an ex-agent, thus, understanding of what Mary was going through, but her next action shocked him more.

"I should have done this a long time ago. I'm sorry," Alice reached into her pocket and placed a small flash drive onto the side table. Mary nodded and took a breath as she placed a slightly larger pen-drive onto John's side table next to Alice's.

"A. G. R. A.," Sherlock read off from the memory stick. "What's that?"

Mary glanced at Alice and then at John. "My initials,"

"Us," Alice answered honestly. Her eyed briefly met Sherlock's.

John grimaced and looked away. 

"Everything about who I was is on there," Mary looked directly at John. "If you love me, don't read it in front of me,"

"Why?"

"Because you won't love me when you're finished. And I don't want to see that happen,"

John stared at the pen drive for a minute before placing it in his jacket pocket.

"How much did figure out?" Mary asked Sherlock. "I know Alice wouldn't have told you about me. I made her promise not to,"

"By your skillset, you are- or were- an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You're on the run from something; you've used your skills to disappear. Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were doing to kill him; and I assume you befriended Janine in order to get close to him," Sherlock shifted slightly in his chair.

"Oh, you can talk," Mary quipped.

"Do I want to know?" Alice mouthed to John, who shook his head in reply.

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life," Mary explained.

John shook his head in disbelief. "So you were just going to kill him?"

"People like Magnussen should be killed. That is why there are people like us,"

John slammed his fist on the arm of his armchair. "So that's what you were? An assassin? How could I not see that?"

"So, Mary," Sherlock interjected. "Are there any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself that you want to be extracted and returned?"

"Why would you help me?" Mary questioned.

"Because you saved my life,"

"Sor- sorry, what?" John asked.

"When I happened on you and Magnussen..." Sherlock's breaths began to get more heavy. "...you had a problem. More specifically, you had a witness. The solution was simple: Kill us both and leave. However, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my finds. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. Not on the night that both of us broke into the building. Your own husband would become a suspect. So, you calculated that Magnussen would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police- as his MO. And you left the way you came," Noticing his uneven breath patterns, Alice walked over to Sherlock. "Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John inquired.

"She phoned the ambulance,"

"I phoned the ambulance,"

"She phoned first. You didn't find me for another five minutes. Left yo you, I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is..."

"Did somebody call an ambulance?" A paramedic asked as a group entered the flat.

"...Eight minutes," Sherlock continued. "Did you bring any morphine? We asked on the phone,"

"We were told there was a shooting," The paramedic said, confused.

"There was," Sherlock said, getting up. "But I believe I'm bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic," He began to lean heavily on Alice. "You may need to restart my heart on the way,"

Sherlock's knees gave out and the paramedic ran towards him.

"Sherlock?" John asked, worried.

Sherlock groaned and grabbed onto his shoulders. "John, Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary, she saved my life," Sherlock cried out again and the paramedics carried him out of the flat. 

"She nearly killed you," John shot back.

"And she didn't hit the middle of the coin. Nobody's perfect," Sherlock groaned again as the paramedics helped him out of the flat.

Alice grabbed her purse and took the flash drive from the table. "I'm going with Sherlock to the hospital. The spare room is open if one of you needs it. Based on the events that transpired tonight, I should note that I will be moving back downstairs for a while," She looked at both Watsons sternly. "But don't think I'm just going to let this slide. Despite what you believe, you matter to him. And trust me when I say there is nothing that man wouldn't do to keep those he cares about safe,"

Chapter Text

Sherlock had been in the hospital for a few days. All of his doctors agreed that breaking out of a hospital within a week of a penetrating gunshot wound was one of the worst things a person could do to themselves. Alice stood next to him, thinking about the past week. How Mycroft refused to tell her anything regarding Sherlock's visit to the drug den, how she randomly received a text from Sherlock asking for her to meet him at the false facades without any explanation. It was there where she met up with John and agreed to let Sherlock do what he needed before chastising him. She knew that Sherlock would do anything to protect those he cared about. It was only when she heard Sherlock talk to Mary on the phone that she realised he had found out about Mary's past, therefore, hers as well. 

"I should have realised that leaving you by yourself is the same as leaving you with your worst enemy," Alice paused, thinking about her next words carefully. "John told me about Janine last night. He informed me about how you manipulated her, took advantage of her feelings, all to get into his office,"

Sherlock looked at her nervously, unsure of what she would do or say next. 

"Did you know that Mycroft refused to tell me about her? I know he knew something, you should have seen how he stood when he got back. Your brother, the so-called Ice Man, did not tell me that his brother was seeing someone else during my absence in order to spare my feelings. And I know that he didn't know ahead of time that Lady Smallwood contacted you. Exactly how long ago was Lady Smallwood's visit? Because according to my records it was at most maybe a little over two months ago. So I want to know, how long were you planning this?"

"Magnussen needed to be stopped and I needed to find a way to do that,"

"So what was your plan then? Break into his flat, and negotiate? He finds a weakness and utilises it for leverage. For Carvie, it is his daughter, for Lady Smallwood, it is her husband's affair. That is how Magnussen works, and you are smart enough to know when a case isn't worth your time. So why did you take it?"

Sherlock paused. "Mary, lots of love poppet. Oodles of love and heap of good wishes from CAM, Wish your family could have seen this," He stated verbatim the telegram Magnussen had sent to John and Mary on their wedding day. "I saw how you reacted that day, how you readjusted your posture as though you sensed danger. I wanted to ask you about it later that night. But when I couldn't find you, I left the wedding and began to work on who CAM was. It only took me an hour to figure out that it stood for Charles Augustus Magnussen, owner of the CAM network here in London. A day or two after the wedding, Lady Smallwood came to visit me regarding Magnussen and her husband's letters. I figured I would kill two birds with one stone and not only get the letters but also try to find out why you reacted the way you did. So yes, I faked a relationship with Janine in hopes to somehow get into Magnussen's office while he was out in order to get back the letters. Not only would that give me leverage on him but it would also give me a favour with Lady Smallwood and in turn, my brother. I needed another since I used up one at Baskerville,"

"So when you broke into Magnussen's flat, you only intended to get the letters. Correct?"

Sherlock nodded.

"That still doesn't give you the right to fake a relationship with Janine. All that just to get into Magnussen's office?" Alice picked up one of the tabloid magazines from the side table and turned to the dog-eared article with Janine wearing a deerstalker. "I did contact her this morning. She said everything was alright between the two of you. Though she did apologise to me, saying that the media will now think that I am in a relationship with a sex-maniac. I simply told her that she went light on getting revenge,"

"Can I ask you a question?"

Alice nodded. "It's only fair,"

He held up the small flash drive Alice had set on the side table a few nights earlier. "Is this why you left?" 

"What Magnussen has on Mary he most likely has on me too. Mary wasn't lying when she said that the stuff on it could send her to jail. I was young when I joined them. That's when I met Mary. She was kind and we became good friends and colleagues. We worked together for almost three years. Then there was an incident in 2009. The first time I saw since was in your flat last November,"

"Does Mycroft know about your work history?"

"It's Mycroft, of course, he knows. What your brother wants to know, he can easily find out. I normally tell him myself though, I hate it when he looks at my file. Our relationship is similar to that of a brother and sister,"

"I could have protected you,"

"It's not just about me, I'm not the one who needs protecting," She took a deep breath. "Here's the thing. When I came to London, it was only a few months after the incident. I wanted a fresh start. I had no intentions of joining you and John on cases. I wanted to remain out of the public eye- that was why I wanted John to only use my first name when talking about me on his blog posts. I never expected to get closer to you. I never felt that I was deserving of any type of affection after the incident. But then you showed up with your scarf and coat and I fell. Then you fell- literally- and I broke. John can lose me, but he can't lose you, not again,"

Sherlock handed the flash drive back to Alice. "I made a vow to protect John and Mary, and I am still committed to making the same vow to you," From under his pillow he pulled out the engagement ring and held it up for her to take. "If you are still willing,"

Alice placed the ring onto his open palm and closed it into a fist. "I'm not making the same mistake. I want you to decide whether or not you want me in your life after you hear my full story,"

Sherlock nodded. "If that is what you want,"

"It is. Besides, I need some time to think and you need some time to get better. You're not going to be working for a while," She began to make her way towards the door before turning back to Sherlock in his bed. "Don't do anything stupid and don't try to escape out of boredom. Because if you do, I have Anderson on speed dial,"

*

Sherlock sat in a small restaurant. He still wore his hospital gown and had his morphine drip stand next to him.

"Shouldn't you be in hospital?" Magnussen asked as he stood by the table.

"I am in hospital. This is the canteen,"

Magnussen looked around the empty restaurant. "Is it?"

"In my opinion, yes," Sherlock gestured to the chair across from him with his fork. "Have a seat,"

"Thank you," Magnussen said as he sat down at the table.

Sherlock put his fork down on the table and watched the other man carefully. "I've been thinking about you,"

"I've been thinking about you," Magnussen returned.

"Really?" Sherlock asked, showing no emotion. He reached over to his morphine and lowered his dosage three times. "I want to see Appledore, where you keep all the files, everything you've got on everyone. I want you to invite me,"

"What makes you think I'd be so careless?" Magnussen asked calmly.

Sherlock stared into Magnussen's eyes. "Oh, I think you're a lot more 'careless' than you let on,"

Magnussen leaned forward. "Am I?" He calmly asked.

"Except it's not dead-eyed, is it?" Sherlock reached forward, wincing slightly from the pain, and took Magnussen's glasses off his face. "You're reading," Sherlock smiled as he examined the glasses in his hand. "How does it work? Built-in flash drive? 4G wireless?" Sherlock put on the glasses and frown in confusion. "They're just ordinary spectacles," He said, taking them off.

"Yes, they are," Magnussen's vision was slightly blurry but he could still read Sherlock. "I am sure darling Alice could have told you that. Are you worried that I'll try to steal her away too? Her talents are rather promising. Or are you worried that I'll share her secrets with the world?"

Sherlock's jaw clenched as he refused to show emotion at the sound of Alice's name coming out of Magnussen's mouth.

"You should be worried about both. I can offer her protection and I can share her location with some of the most powerful people in the world. Each of them wanting to have her as part of their team or willing to kill her for what she has done," Magnussen said as he played with the pasta on Sherlock's plate. He picked up an olive from the plate and popped it in his mouth before washing his hand in Sherlock's water. "You underestimate me, Mr. Holmes,"

"Impress me, then," Sherlock said quietly as Magnussen took back his glasses. "Show me Appledore,"

"Everything's available for a price. Are you making me an offer?"

"A Christmas present?"

Magnussen's lips curved slightly. "And what are you giving me for Christmas, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock smiled as he locked eyes with Magnussen. "My brother,"

*

Alice sat alone in an empty sitting room in one of the offices in Whitehall.

"Alice Whitmer," A danish voice said. Charles Augustus Magnussen entered through the door behind her alone.

Alice stood up and turned around to face the Napoleon of Blackmail. "Mr. Magnussen. Thank you for accepting my invitation,"

Chapter Text

Alice sat alone in an empty sitting room in one of the offices in Whitehall.

"Alice Whitmer," A danish voice said. Charles Augustus Magnussen entered through the door behind her alone.

Alice stood up and turned around to face the Napoleon of Blackmail. "Mr. Magnussen. Thank you for accepting my invitation,"

"I am never one to reject a polite invitation to tea,"

Alice smirked and welcomed him to sit down at the small table set for afternoon tea. Magnussen obliged and sat down in the seat closest to the window. "I invited you here to discuss two important matters at hand. I am sure you are prepared for both topics," she said as she handed him a freshly poured cup of tea.

"Does it make you feel safer to have the meeting here?" Magnussen asked, gesturing to the room and the view out the window. "Whitehall; the Cabinet Office,"

Alice took a sip of her tea before placing the cup and saucer down on the table. "Where we would have this meeting would make no difference to you. I trust your security detail is standing outside,"

"Naturally,"

"How kind of you to place such trust in me that you enter without them. So, have you found my pressure point yet?"

Magnussen pushed up his glasses and took a closer look at the woman before him.

Alice Whitmer

Freelance Worker (See File)

Finances: Unknown

Pressure Point:

Sherlock Holmes

John Watson

Nicholas Whitmer

Mycroft Holmes

Alice observed his stance. "Oh, I'm sure you could find it without those glasses,"

Magnussen let out a slight chuckle. "You are the first to notice. I must say, you have quite the list,"

"I am sure you know that technology happens to be one of my specialities. Now, back to why I invited you here,"

"Yes, I believe you would like to speak about Mrs. Watson," 

"No, I am sure Sherlock has already made a deal with you regarding Mary. I am requesting information on someone else: James Moriarty,"

Magnussen cocked his head. "Do you find yourself missing him? I do recall that he was rather smitten with you,"

"Whether or not he had feelings for me doesn't matter. I want to make sure my theories on him are correct,"

"And what are you willing to provide me?"

"Me. I am willing to offer my talents to you. I happen to be well respected by the American Government. Imagine what you could do with two of the most powerful countries in the palm of your hand,"

Alice smirked as she watched Magnussen weigh the pros and cons in his head before holding out his hand for her to shake.

"I'll only need the hard copies. They tend to be harder to procure compared to the information that resides in your mind palace," she said as she shook his hand.

"It may take some time to get them all in order, even with my name involved,"

"Naturally. You are a busy man, take your time,"

"Expect a package around November," Magnussen said as he left the sitting room. 

*** NOVEMBER ***

Sherlock and John sat in their chairs, facing Alice. Her flash drive sat on the table beside John.

"I want there to be no more secrets about my past between us," She looked over at John, who had been staying in his old room for the past couple of months. "You may stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable,"

"As you know, I worked for the American department of defence from 2001 to 2005. I took some time off before working freelance in 2006. Within the first few months of doing freelance, I became part of a group,"

"AGRA," John responded.

"Yes," 

"Mary said it was both of you. What does that mean exactly?"

"There were four of us. AGRA stood for our names: Ajay, Gabriel, Me, and Ros-"

John held his hand up. "I want to hear her name from her,"

Alice nodded in understanding. "Those pen drives, we all had them. Each had our aliases, backgrounds, everything. There was supposedly absolute trust between all of us because we all had means to destroy the other,"

"Who employed you?" Sherlock asked.

"Anyone who paid well enough. Major governments, high profile officials. Each of us had our talents and specialities that could make us dangerous both in front of or behind the scenes. I was the youngest and the newest in the group. All of the members had a good number of years of experience in comparison to me,"

"What happened? Why'd you stop?" John questioned.

"There was an incident: a coup in Georgia. The British embassy in Tbilisi was taken over. There were lots of hostages and we got a call to go in and get them out. Nothing out of the ordinary. Apparently, there was a last-minute change,"

"Who from?"

Alice shrugged. "I don't know. I was told by Mary that it was just another voice on the phone with a code word: Ammo. We went in and something went wrong," She paused for a few seconds to collect herself. "We were betrayed. Tbilisi was messy. Many died, and those who didn't were tortured; myself included- me, Ajay, and Gabriel. It's not something I'd like to remember. The screams, the pain,"

John looked at her horrified.

"I got out after a while. I went home and got a job at a small book store- somewhere inconspicuous. Like I said before: it's nice and quiet. Nobody ever bothers to notice a girl in a shop. We just blend into the background hearing whispers and stories of the outside world. It was my grandmother who suggested that I go to a different country for a while. She suggested here since she grew up in England and has known Mrs. Hudson since they were young. I followed her advice and came here to try to clear my head. You two know the rest,"

"You didn't change your name, why?" Sherlock asked, intrigued.

"It is a way for me to come to terms with who I was and what I've done in my life. I think part of me buried the aftermath of Tbilisi in the depths of my mind. But memories can resurface, wounds can reopen. The roads we walk have demons beneath. I'm not perfect and I sure as hell am not innocent. And it pains me to say that six or seven years ago, I might have joined Moriarty. I'm not asking for forgiveness, I just want there to no more secrets about who I am,"

***

Chapter Text

*** NOVEMBER ***

Alice sat at her cluttered desk in Mycroft's office in Whitehall. Magnussen had kept true to his word and sent her files on James Moriarty. For the past week, she had been buried in her work; referencing and cross-referencing Magnussen's sources with her own. She often was at the office until late at night. Moriarty's death still bothered her. It was too clean, too perfect. If Moriarty was considered the Napoleon of crime, there had to more to his game and his mind before Waterloo. There had to be something missing, something that she didn't catch onto the first time.

It was almost seven in the evening by the time she arrived back at the flat. "Sherlock?" Alice asked the empty flat. To her surprise, the table in the living room was set for dinner.

"Ah, you're home early," Sherlock said as he came up the stairs. He was wearing his purple shirt- her favourite- and in his hand was a baking dish. "I wasn't expecting you for another ten minutes," He gently placed their dinner in the centre of the table.

"Mycroft's driver brought me, normally I would've taken the Tube," Alice explained. She took in a sniff of the food. "Did you make this?"

"Mrs. Hudson helped- did most of it- I bought the ingredients," 

Alice laughed at his quick succession of events. "Well, that was awfully kind of her. What is it?"

"Shepperd's pie. I used to eat it as a boy," Sherlock answered as he placed a plate in front of Alice. 

"Tell me about your childhood,"

"Well, I was the dumb one between my brother and myself..." Sherlock began, he stopped the self-depreciation when Alice gave him a disapproving look. "We often spent time in the family home in the country, Musgrave Hall,"

Their conversation then drifted towards Sherlock's college years. He felt oddly relieved that Alice wasn't present when he and John visited Sebastian at Shad Sanderson. He knew his former classmate would not only try and flirt with her but also tell incredibly rude- and slightly true- stories of his days at university.  It wasn't until the fall that he realised he never wanted her to think badly of him. He felt she knew about his old drug habits after he visited the drug den. Mycroft would have told her. He was thankful that his brother had the bravery that he lacked when it came to Alice.

"When did you start getting interested in detective work?"

"Like you, I have always noticed the fine details. But it was the Carl Powers case that really started my interest in crime. I met Lestrade in 2004 when a victim was found in a sauna but died of hypothermia,"

Dessert came and went. Sherlock had purchased a small fraisier cake from a local bakery. "Now," Sherlock said as he reached into his jacket pocket. In his hand was the engagement ring. Alice's eyes started to water at the sight of the delicate ring and what it signified for the both of them. "You wanted me to wait until I heard your story and I have decided that none of that matters to me. Your past has made you the person you are today and it brought you to London. So, if you will still have me, I would be honoured to have you as my wife. Alice Whitmer, will you marry me?"

"Yes," Alice began to cry as he placed the ring on her finger, where it rightfully belonged.

"You should probably thank John when he returns from his sister's," Sherlock said as the two embraced.

"Why?"

"He helped me with that speech,"

Alice laughed into his chest. "It did sound a little bit too romantic to be from your mind,"

***

"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock," Mycroft said as he rubbed his temple. "It's been Christmas day for at least a week now. How can it only be two o'clock? I am in agony,"

Alice let out a slight laugh as she placed the basket of Christmas crackers onto the table. "I'm sure you can last another hour or so before the government requests your presence again,"

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes asked, pointing to the grey computer underneath her cutting board.

"On which depends the security of the free world, yes," Mycroft smiled sarcastically at his mother. "And you've got potatoes on it,"

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important,"

Alice sighed and picked up the cutting board and potatoes. "You really should be more careful with that, Mycroft," she scolded, placing the potato-covered cutting board on the counter behind her.

"Why are we doing this? We never do this?" Mycroft asked as he looked around in exasperation.

Mrs. Holmes leaned on the table. "We are here because this is Alice's first Christmas as Sherlock's fiancée and because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy,"

"Am I happy too?" I haven't checked," Mycroft mocked.

"Behave, Mike," Mrs. Holmes pleaded.

"'Mycroft', is the name you gave me if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end,"

"Mrs. Holmes," Bill interrupted as he offered her a cup of tea.

"Oh, thank you, dear. Not absolutely sure why you're here," Mrs. Holmes said as she took a drink from her glass,

"I invited him," Sherlock commented, putting down the article he was reading on Lord Smallwood's death.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs. 'olmes. When 'e dies, I get all his stuff, and 'is job,"

"Nope," Sherlock corrected.

"Oh, well I help out a bit,"

"Better,"

"If he does get murdered or something-"

"You should probably stop talking now," Alice suggested.

Mrs. Holmes looked at the young man, shocked.

Mycroft looked disapprovingly at Sherlock. "Lovely when you bring your friends around," 

Mrs. Holmes put her glass down on the table. "Stop it, you," She scolded Mycroft "Somebody's put a bullet in my boy, and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous. Ah, this was for Mary," Mrs. Holmes picked up a mug full of tea. "I'll be back in a minute,"

Sherlock lowered his left hand to look at his watch, counting down from 7 minutes and 37 seconds.

"So you're the favourite," Alice said to Sherlock as she placed a cup of tea on the table.

"Yes, well the youngest do tend to be babied the most," Mycroft couldn't help but taunt.

"Funny, I always thought you acted more like a middle child,"

Mycroft eyed her suspiciously. "Have you seen the news?" He said to Alice, who had sat down between him and Sherlock. 

"Yes," Alice replied as she typed on her phone with one hand and took a sip of her tea with the other. "It's a shame. I suppose you have already sent a card to Lady Smallwood,"

"Ah, Mary. There you are," Mrs. Holmes said as she entered the living room. "Cup of tea,"

Mary smiled and put down her book. "Thank you,"

"Now, if Father starts making little humming noises, just give him a little poke. That usually does it," 

Mr. Holmes straightened up from the fire and dusted off his hands.

"Did you write this?" Mary asked Mrs. Holmes, holding up the book on the dynamics of combustion.

"Oh, that silly old thing. You mustn't read that. Mathematics must seem terribly fatuous now," Mrs. Holmes then turned her attention to her husband. "Now, no humming, you," She patted his back affectionately and left the room.

Mr. Holmes smiled at Mary. "Complete flake, my wife, but happens to be a genius,"

"She was a mathematician?" Mary asked, amazed.

"Gave it all up for children. I could never bear to argue with her. I'm something of a moron myself. But she's... unbelievably hot,"

Mary giggled. "Oh my God. You're the sane one, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" Mr. Holmes said with raised eyebrows.

The door opened and John walked in. "Oh, sorry," He nervously looked at Mary, who was flipping through her book. "Sorry, I- I just, er..."

Mr. Holmes looked at both of them. "Oh, do you two need a moment?"

"If you don't mind,"

"No, of course not. I'll- I'll go and see if I can help with... something or another," Mr. Holmes quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him. "Are those two all right?" He asked Sherlock who was on his way outside to get some air.

"Well, you know- they've had their ups and downs," Sherlock said as he headed out the front door.

"So, are you okay?" John asked, still standing by the fireplace.

"Oh! Are we doing conversation today?" Mary asked sarcastically. "It really is Chrismas,"

John reached into his pocket and took out the memory stick. 

Mary closed her book and scoffed. "Now?"

John simply nodded as she stared at him.

"Seriously?" Mary spat. "Months of silence and we're going to do this now?" She took a deep breath. "So, have you read it?" Mary asked calmly.

John walked closer to the fireplace, spinning the memory stick in between his two fingers. "W- would you come here a moment?"

"No. Tell me. Have you?"

"Just... come here,"

Mary did as she was told, grasping her heavily pregnant stomach. 

"I genuinely find this difficult. I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you," John said tersely. "These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care,"

"Okay," Mary said quickly, hoping that their conversation would end soon.

John cleared his throat. "The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future...are my privilege." He said softly. "That's all I have to say. That's all I need to know," Mary's eyes filled with tears as John tossed the pen-drive into the lit fire. "No. I didn't read it,"

Mary still stood in front of him, crying. "You don't even know my name,"

"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?"

"Yes," Mary began to sob. "Oh my God, yes,"

"Then it's good enough for me, too," John stated as they embraced in a hug. Mary continued to cry into his shoulder. All the fear, worry, and pain began to drift away. 

"All this does not mean that I'm not still pissed off with you," John whispered.

"I know, I know,"

"I am very pissed off and it will come out now and then,"

"I know, I know, I know," Mary said in a soothing tone. The two slightly pulled away from each other so that they were face to face.

"You can mow the sodding lawn from now on,"

"I do mow the lawn," Mary pointed out.

"No, I do it loads,"

"You really don't," She returned.

"I choose the baby name,"

Mary scoffed at John's last argument. "Not a chance.

"Okay,"

Chapter Text

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business," Mycroft said as he and Sherlock strolled outside the cottage to smoke.

"Are you?"

Mycroft gave him a subtle nod. "I am still curious, though. It's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you hate him?"

"Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets," Sherlock snarled. "Why don't you hate him?"

"He's never caused too much damage to anyone important. He's far too intelligent for that. He's a businessman, that's all. And he is occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil. Not some dragon for you to slay," Mycroft took a drag from his cigarette.

"A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?" Sherlock said as he stood next to his brother. Both of their backs were turned to the door.

"No. It's what you think of yourself,"

"Are you two smoking?" Mrs. Holmes demanded as she opened the front door.

The two boys turned to her with their cigarettes behind their backs.

"No," Mycroft answered quickly.

"It was Mycroft," Sherlock replied at the same time.

Mrs. Holmes narrowed her eyes, not believing a word from either of her sons said and closed the door. Both men quickly took another drag.

"I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline," Mycroft said as he paced.

"I decline your kind offer,"

Mycroft gave him a slight smile. "I shall pass on your regrets,"

"What was it?"

"MI6. They want to place you back into eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that will prove fatal to you in, I think about six months,"

"Then why don't you want me to take it?" Sherlock asked, unconvinced.

"It's tempting... but on balance, you have more utility closer to home,"

Sherlock scoffed. "Utility. How do I have utility,"

"Here be dragons," Mycroft took another drag. "And a princess worth protecting. Should something happen to you, I sincerely doubt that I could convince her to stay. Speaking of which, I believe our dear mother is boring her with wedding ideas right now," He paused and let out a cough. "This isn't agreeing with me. I'm going back in," He said as he stubbed his cigarette into the stone path.

"You need low tar," Sherlock taunted. "You still smoke like a beginner,"

"Also," Mycroft added as he made his way to the door. "The loss of the both of you would break my heart,"

Sherlock began to cough at his brother's words. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

Mycroft turned around and held out his arms, shrugging. "Merry Christmas?"

"You hate Christmas," Sherlock remarked.

"Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch,"

"Clearly. Go an have some more,"

"So you realize that Sherlock got us out here to see his mom and dad for a reason?" Mary asked as she and John continued to hug.

John smiled. "His lovely mom and dad. A fine example of married life. I get that,"

Over his shoulder, Mary held her fingers to her forehead. 

"That is the thing with Sherlock," John continued, "it's always the unexpected,"

Mary's eye began to close and she slumped in his grasp, unconscious.

"Mary?" John asked as he lowered her down into the nearby armchair. "Mary, can you hear me?"

"Don't drink Mary's tea," Sherlock instructed as he checked on the other members of the household. "Or the punch,"

Mr. Holmes was passed out on the couch while Mrs. Holmes, Alice, and Mycroft were unconscious in the kitchen. 

"Sherlock?" John asked as he followed the detective into the kitchen. "Did you just drug my pregnant wife?"

"Don't worry," Sherlock replied as he checked Alice and Mycroft's breathing. "Wiggins is an excellent chemist," 

"I calculated your wife's dose meself," Wiggins explained proudly. "Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on her,"

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job," Sherlock informed John as he tied his scarf.

"What the hell have you done?" John asked furiously. 

Sherlock looked down for a second before looking back up at his best friend. "A deal with the Devil,"

"Oh, Jesus," John muttered under his breath before going into the small sitting room.

Sherlock looked down at his unconscious fiancée. His face was full of remorse. "I'm sorry," He whispered as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Sherlock," John called from the sitting room. "Please tell me that you haven't just gone out of your mind,"

Sherlock turned his attention to Mycroft, who was slumped over his laptop on the table. He gently bent down and took the laptop from under his brother, placing it under his left arm. "I'd rather keep you guessing,"

John turned and looked out the window at the sound of an approaching helicopter.

Sherlock smiled and looked upwards. "Ah, there's our lift,"

The helicopter landed in the open field next to the Holmes' cottage. The two slowly made their way out the front door.

"Coming?" Sherlock asked as he led the way.

"Where?

"D'you you want your wife to be safe?"

"Ye, of course, I do," John snapped back.

"Good. Because this is going to be incredibly dangerous. One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be imprisoned for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us,"

"But it's Christmas," John argued disgustedly.

Sherlock smiled. "I feel the same," He turned and saw John's expression. "Oh, you mean it's actually Christmas,"

"Yep," John mumbled.

"Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

"Why would I bring my gun to your parent's home for Christmas dinner?!"

Sherlock held out John's coat in his right hand. "Is it in your coat,"

"Yes," John replied as he took his coat from Sherlock's hand. "Where are we going?"

"Appledore,"

Chapter Text

A security guard escorted John and Sherlock through Appledore's hallways to Magnussen, who sat on a sofa in an open room. All it took was one nod from Magnussen and the three of them were left alone. 

"I would offer you a drink," Magnussen said, lifting his glass. "but it's very rare and expensive,"

John blinked, confused, as Sherlock sat down on the sofa next to Magnussen. He set down Mycroft's laptop beside him.

"Oh, it was you," Sherlock calmly stated as he watched the screen in front of them play a recording of John's rescue from the bonfire.

"Yes, of course," Magnussen replied.

John turned around and watched in disbelief at the footage before him.

"Very hard to find the right pressure point for you, Mr. Holmes," Magnussen continued. "I never believed the dugs thing for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?"

Sherlock simply shrugged in acknowledgement. 

"I could have gone after Alice of course. But to my surprise, she came after me. I had hoped she would be joining us this evening,"

Sherlock stiffened at the mention of Alice's name coming out of Magnussen's mouth. Alice said nothing to him about her going to Magnussen nor did he mention that he was plotting this entire trip to Appledore. We'll call it even.

Magnussen smirked at the sight of Sherlock being uncomfortable before turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. "But look at how you care about John Watson: your other damsel in distress,"

John turned back around and walked closer to the sofa. "You put me in a fire... for leverage?" 

"Oh, I'd never let you burn, Doctor Watson. I had people standing by," Magnussen comforted as he placed his glass down on the table and stood up. "I'm not a murderer... unlike your wife,"

 John clenched his jaw at Magnussen's taunt.

"Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson," Magnussen continued, turning off the projection. "For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well... apart from me,"

John cocked his head while Sherlock's mouth lifted into a small smirk.

"One of Mycroft's pressure points is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock. And one of Sherlock's pressure points is his best friend, John Watson. John Watson's pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson's wife..." Magnussen turned to Sherlock "...I own Mycroft. He's what I'm getting for Christmas. I thought I'd go through a less obvious route- make it a bit interesting,"

"It's an exchange," Sherlock corrected as he handed the laptop over. "Not a gift,"

"Forgive me, but..." Magnussen raised a brow "... I already seem to have it,"

"It's password-protected. In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson,"

Magnussen stroked the top of the laptop. "Oh, she's bad, that one. So many dead people. You should see what I've seen,"

"I don't need to see it," John said shortly.

"You might enjoy it," Magnussen taunted "I enjoy it,"

"Then why don't you show us?" Sherlock taunted back.

Magnussen looked over at Sherlock and placed Mycroft's laptop down on the sofa beside him."Show you Appledore? The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"

"I want everything you've got on Mary,"

Magnussen let out a laugh and shook his head. "You know I had expected something good,"

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop-"

"-include a GPS locator. By now, your brother and your fiancée will have noticed the theft, and security will be converging on this house. Once they arrive, they will find top-secret information in my hands and have every right to search the vaults. They will then discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr. and Mrs. Psychopath," Magnussen finished for him. "Mycroft will be a very proud big brother,"

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it,"

Magnussen took a sip from his drink and smiled as he placed it back down on the table. "Then why am I smiling? Ask me,"

"Why are you smiling," John asked, taking a step towards the businessman.

"Well, I happen to know that I, in fact, would be set free due to a certain connection. But mainly because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and who he holds dear. Let me show you the Appledore Vaults," He stood up and led the boys across the room and through the glass doors towards a set of wooden doors at the side of the room. 

"The entrance to my vaults," Magnussen explained with his hand on one of the door handles. "This is where I keep you all," He took hold of both door handles and pulled the doors open to reveal a small windowless room.

"So where are the vaults, then?" John asked, confused.

"Vaults? What vaults? there are no vaults beneath this building," Magnussen sat down on the chair in the centre of the room and pointed to his temple. "They're all in here,"

John frowned while Sherlock's eyes widened, having understood the situation they were now in.

"The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock? How to store information so you never forget it- by picturing it. Did you know that Alice figured it out on her first go? Our meeting was quite informative," He gestured to his seat, "Since you boys need a better explanation, all I have to do is sit here, close my eyes and I go down to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults-my memories. How about I look at the files on Mrs. Watson," John and Sherlock watched as Sherlock mimed the act of opening a filing cabinet and selecting a manilla folder. "Mmm, ah. This is one of my favourites. All those wet jobs for the CIA. She's gone a bit freelance now. Bad girl. I can see why you like her," Magnussen opened his eyes, returning to the empty room. "You see?"

John cleared his throat. "So there are no documents. You don't have anything here,"

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something if I really need it- for example, a certain American- but mostly I just remember it all,"

"I don't understand,"

"You should put that on a T-shirt,"

"You just remember it all?"

Magnussen turned his attention to Sherlock. "It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning,"

"But you just know it, then you don't have proof," John tried to reason.

"Proof? what would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it- I just have to print it,"

Sherlock lowered his gaze, becoming more and more aware of how badly he had miscalculated.

"Speaking of news," Magnussen continued, "you'll both be heavily featured tomorrow- trying to sell state secrets to me," He looked down at the watch on his wrist. "Let's go outside. They'll be here shortly. Can't wait to see you arrested,"

The boys watched as he left the room. "Sherlock, do we have a plan?" John asked. The detective was still frozen in place. "Sherlock," Sherlock still refused to speak as they joined Magnussen out on the patio.

"They're taking their time, aren't they?" Magnussen commented, looking up at the darkening sky.

John stopped beside him. "I still don't understand,"

"And there's the back of the T-shirt,"

"You just know things. How does that work?"

Magnussen turned to look at John. "I just love your little soldier face. I'd like to punch it. Bring it over here a minute. Come on,"

John looked over at Sherlock who gave him a short apologetic nod. 

"For Mary. Bring me your face,"

John obliged.

"Lean forward a bit and stick your face out. Can I flick your face?"

John pursed his lips and allowed Magnussen to flick his cheek, causing the older man to laugh.

"I just love doing this. It works like this, John. I know who Mary hurt and killed. I know where to find people who hate her. I know where they live and I know their phone numbers. All in my Mind Palace- all of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down- and I will; unless you let me flick your face. This is what I do to people. This is what I do to countries just because I know. Can I do your eye now? See if you can keep it open,"

Instinctively, John turned to Sherlock who couldn't help but apologise. "Let him, I'm sorry,"

"Come one, eye open," John's eyes flinched as Magnussen repeatedly flicked his eye over and over again. "It's difficult, isn't it? Janine managed it once. She makes the funniest noises," Magnussen said as he straightened up at the sound of the approaching helicopters.

Mycroft and Alice sat in a small helicopter that hovered a few yards away from Magnussen's home. The spotlight shined on the three men. Below them was a team of armed men that surrounded the patio. Each had their guns aimed at the one of the three men.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Mycroft said into the speaker "Stand away from that man."

"Here we go, Mr. Holmes," Magnussen said with a smile.

Sherlock stepped forward next to John's side. "To clarify," he yelled over the noise of the helicopter. "Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there,"

Magnussen looked over the helicopter. "They're not real. They never have been,"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step away," Mycroft ordered again.

Magnussen walked a couple of steps towards the helicopter and slightly waved his arms. "It's fine, they're harmless!"

"Target not armed," Alice heard over the radio. "I repeat: target is not armed,"

John looked over to his friend. "Sherlock, what do we do?"

"Nothing," Magnussen answered. "There's nothing to be done. Oh, I'm not the villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman acquiring assets this evening. You happen to be one of them! Sorry, no chance for you to be the hero this time, Mr. Holmes,"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, stand away from that man. Do it now!" Mycroft ordered once more.

Sherlock lifted his head. "Oh, do your research," He reached into John's coat and grabbed the pistol. "I'm not a hero..." Magnussen turned to look at him. "...I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas," Sherlock raised John's pistol and fired at Magnussen's head. Before Magnussen's body could even hit the ground Sherlock threw the gun down on the patio and walked towards the helicopter with his hands in the air. "Get away from me John,"

"Christ, Sherlock!" John yelled desperately, raising his own hands.

"Stand fire!" Mycroft commanded frantically. The marksmen run towards the patio, aiming at Sherlock. Red laser dots appeared all over his torso. "Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!"

Sherlock kept his hands raised as he turned to John. "Give my love to Mary, tell her she's safe now. And please, watch over Alice for me," He took one last look at his best friend and then up at the helicopter where he knew his fiancée sat next to his brother before sinking to his knees.

"Oh Sherlock, what have you done?" Alice asked in anguish. All she wanted to do at that point was run to him, wipe his tears, and tell him that everything would be alright. 

Mycroft slowly removed his headset. In his eyes, all he could see was a younger version of his little brother weeping on the patio.

Chapter Text

Mycroft stared at the outside world through the glass wall of a meeting room. "As my colleague is fond of remarking, this country sometimes needs a blunt instrument. Equally, it sometimes needs a dagger- a scalpel wielded with precision and without remorse. There will always come a time when we need Sherlock Holmes,"

Several of the men sitting at the nearby table looked at him silently. "If this is some sort expression of familial sentiment-" One man spoke up.

"Don't be absurd. I am not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion. You know what happened to the other one. In any event, there is no prison in which we could incarcerate Sherlock without causing a riot on a daily basis," He turned around to Lady Smallwood. "The alternative, however, would require your approval."

"Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes," Lady Smallwood replied.

"Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my brother is a murderer,"

*

The four gathered in the living room of 221b. Sherlock sat in his chair with Alice on the armrest while a heavily pregnant Mary sat in John's seat and John in the chair for clients between the two armchairs. All of them were unsure of what to do or what to say. 

"I imagine Mycroft is having a meeting on what to do with me," Sherlock said to the group. "No doubt that they are planning to send me somewhere,"

The group remained quiet. None of them wanted to discuss what had happened at Appledore. 

"Let's just elope," Alice spoke up.

"Alice..."

"I'm serious, The Old Marylebone Town Hall is only a few blocks away. We've been engaged for a year. And I think everyone can agree that we've never been the traditional type,"

*

Alice had never imagined that she ever elope, but with Sherlock, it just felt right. The past day and a half felt like a whirlwind, from going down to the register's office to booking a venue on short notice, there was barely any time left to sleep. They had a total of six guests: John, Mary, Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson with Alice's brother watching on his computer. Mycroft was invited out of politeness but he declined the offer.

Sherlock and Alice stood across from each other in the small room, John and Molly stood beside them. 

"Good Afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen," The officiant began "My name is Arthur Howes and I have the privilege of conducting today's wedding ceremony. On behalf of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Miss. Alice Whitmer, I would like to welcome you all here to share their special day with them. However, if anyone present knows of any lawful impediment as to why this marriage should not take place, they should declare it now,"

No one wanted to mention the fact that Sherlock was now a criminal in the eyes of the British Government.

"Sherlock and Alice, before you are joined in matrimony, I have to remind you of the solemn and lasting character of marriage and the nature of the vows that you are about to make to each other today. Marriage according to the law of this country is the union of two people voluntarily entered into for life to the exclusion of all others. More than this, marriage marks the beginning of an important chapter in your lives and is intended to provide love, friendship, and support on your journey through life together. Sherlock and Alice, the moment has now come for you to make your marriage vows. As these words are spoken you will legally become husband and wife,"

"Alice," Sherlock began as he slid a white gold wedding band onto her finger "I give you this ring as a symbol of my love for now and always. Even when I am gone, know that a part of me is always with you,"

"Let everyone recognise this marriage," The officiant continued after the ring ceremony "May neither failure nor misfortune ever part you, and may you live full and rich lives together. On behalf of the City of Westminster, it gives me great pleasure to declare that you are now husband and wife. Congratulations, you may kiss the bride,"

Sherlock took a step forward and cupped Alice's face before gently meeting her lips with his. For a few seconds, it felt as if no one else was in the room and Sherlock's looming departure was in the far future.

*

Alice stood next to Sherlock and Mycroft on the tarmac as John and Mary exited a black state car. 

"You will look after him for me, won't you?" Sherlock asked Mary, who was walking up to him.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll keep him in trouble," Mary replied as she embraced Sherlock in a hug. "Both of them,"

Sherlock smiled as she released him. 

John nodded to Sherlock in greeting. 

"Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson, would you mind if we took a moment?" Sherlock asked his older brother. Mycroft merely nodded and walked with the security guard, Mary, and Alice towards the wing of the charter plane.

"So here we are," John said with a smile.

Sherlock quickly looked around before clearing his threat. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes," he said abruptly.

"Sorry?"

"That's the whole of it- if you are looking for baby names,"

John let out a laugh. "No, we've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl,"

The two looked at each other silently for a few seconds.

"Actually, I can't think of a single thing to say," John admitted.

Sherlock looked down. "Neither can I,"

"The game is over,"

Sherlock looked up to meet John's eyes. "The game is never over, John. But there may be some new players now. It's okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end,"

"What's that?"

"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind- this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. It seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me,"

"Nice," John commented sarcastically.

"He was a rubbish big brother," Sherlock muttered, looking over at his older brother.

John laughed again and cleared his throat. "So what about you, then? You've just gotten married, where are you actually going now?"

Sherlock looked slightly above John's head, refusing to meet his best friend's eyes. "Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe,"

"For how long?"

"Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong,"

"And then what?"

Sherlock met John's gaze for a second before looking out into the distance. "Who knows, John" Sherlock turned back to him "There's something I should say and since it is unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now,"

John frowned slightly in concern. 

"Sherlock is actually a girl's name,"

"It's not," John countered with a chuckle.

Sherlock shrugged. "It was worth a try,"

"Mary and I are not naming our daughter after you,"

"I think it could work,"

"Why not try out these names on Alice?" John suggested. "You said six months right? Our daughter will be here by then and you and Alice can see what parenting is like,"

Sherlock held his gaze, removed his right glove, and held out his hand. "To the very best of times John," John hesitated before he firmly took Sherlocklock's hand, giving it a solid pump.

Alice was next to walk up, only Mycroft stood a little bit closer than he had when Sherlock was talking to John.

"You didn't tell him did you?" She asked after he gave her a small peck on the lips. 

"No,"

"So he still thinks you are coming back,"

Sherlock nodded.

Alice slid up the sleeves of his coat and shirt to get a look at his arms, frowning at the sight in front of her. "Your life is not your own, keep your hands off it," she scolded. "But given the circumstances, maybe it's for the best. Did you leave a list?"

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"There has to be another way. I told you before, John can lose me, but he can't lose you,"

"You know there isn't. I miscalculated and what's done is done. And for the record, he can't lose you either. What are you planning to do once I'm gone?"

Alice shrugged. "I've already decided that I'm going to stay in England. I'll probably help out John and Mary with the baby, continue solving crimes and mysteries, work with your brother occasionally, and retire to East Dean when I'm old and grey,"

"I'm sorry I can't be there to do it all with you,"

"I know,"

Mycroft stepped forward. "It's time,"

The couple looked at him and nodded. 

"I love you," Sherlock whispered before he kissed Alice one last time.

"I love you too,"

John, Mary and Alice watched as Sherlock's plane taxied along the runway.  As soon as it was in the air, Alice excused herself to Mycroft's car.

Sherlock stared out the window of the plane, watching as his entire world disappeared into the distance, slowly a tear fell out of his left eye and down his cheek.

*

"That is simply not possible," Mycroft looked over at Alice, who frowned in confusion.

"What is it?" 

Sherlock stared straight out the window, deep in his mind place. "Sir?" an attendant held out a phone for him. Sherlock looked up at the man, confused. "It's your brother,"

Sherlock took the phone and held it up to his ear. "Mycroft?"

"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?"

"I've only been gone four minutes,"

"Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed,"

"Oh, for God's sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"

Mycroft looked at the screen in front of him. On it was a photograph of Jim Moriarty smiling with his jaw moving up and down like a ventriloquist's dummy as the words 'MISS ME' repeated over and over again. "England,"

Alice sat in the backseat of Mycroft's car, trying to understand the video that popped up all over London and most likely the entire United Kingdom. "I noticed it then, all the mistakes,"

"What are you saying?"

"Was there a body? Did we miss something two years ago? It has been bothering me for the longest time. Magnussen provided me with some information a month ago, the files are on my desk, I suggest you get the others from the archive,"

Mycroft turned his attention away from Alice and back to his phone. "I need all available files on James Moriarty on my desk by tonight,"

"But he's dead. I mean, you told me he was dead, Moriarty," Mary reasoned.

"Absolutely. He blew his own brains out," John muttered. 

"So how can he be back?"

"Well, if he is... he better wrap up warm. There's an East Wind coming," John said with a smile as Sherlock's plane landed.

Chapter Text

John Watson strolled along the street in Central London. His last night was filled with dreams from the waterfront, causing him distress.

"Watson!" A voice called from behind him. "Watson!"

Watson turned around and smiled as the man approached him.

"Stamford. Remember? We were at Bart's together,"

"Yes, of course," Watson immediately shook Stamford's hand "Stamford,"

The two moved to a small bar. "I made it home," Watson said as he took a sip from his glass. "Many weren't so lucky,"

"So what now?"

"Hmm? I need a place to live. Somewhere decent and at an affordable price. It's not easy,"

Stamford chuckled. "You know, you're the second person to say that to me today,"

"Who was the first?"

Stamford led Watson to an underground mortuary.

"Good Lord!" Watson exclaimed as he saw a man violently flogged a corpse with a cane multiple times.

"It's an experiment," Stamford explained. "Beating corpses to establish how long after death bruising is still possible,"

"Is there a medical point to that?"

"Not sure," Stamford shrugged.

"Neither am I. So, where's this friend of yours, then?"

Stamford gave Watson a slight smile and turned towards the man. "Excuse me!"

The man hit the corpse harder and quicker before he finally turned around and took a quick look at Watson. "You've been in Afghanistan, I perceive,"

"Doctor Watson, Mr. Sherlock-"

Sherlock looked down at his watch and tossed his walking cane to John. who reached out and caught it without hesitation.

"-Excellent reflexes," Sherlock smiled, putting his watch back in his waistcoat. "You'll do,"

"I'm sorry?" John asked, confused at the situation he was now in.

"I have my eye on a suite of rooms near Regent's Park. Between us, we could afford them,"

"Rooms? Who said anything about rooms?"

"I did. I mentioned to Stamford this morning that I was in need of a fellow lodger. Now he returns after lunch in the company of a man of military aspect with a tan and a recent injury, both suggestive of the campaign in Afghanistan and an enforced departure from it." Sherlock took a quick breath. "The conclusion seemed inescapable," He gave John a quick smile, knowing that he was right in his deduction. "We'll finalise the details tomorrow evening," He walked over to the two men and took his cane back from Watson. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a hanging in Wandsworth and I'd hate them to start without me,"

"A hanging?" John asked, slightly disturbed.

Sherlock shrugged as he put on his coat. "I take a professional interest. I also play the violin and smoke a pipe. I presume that's not a problem?"

"Er, no, well..."

"And you're clearly acclimatised to never getting to the end of a sentence. We'll get along splendidly. Tomorrow evening, seven o'clock, then," He began to walk away before turning his head back to John. "Oh, and the name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street,"

Once Holmes left, Watson turned to Stamford with a confused look on his face.

"Yes, he's always been like that,"

"Mr. Holmes, I do wish you'd let me know when you are planning to come home," Mrs. Hudson scolded as she exited the building with Billy the houseboy. 

"I hardly knew myself, Mrs. Hudson," Holmes replied as he took out the pipe from his mouth. "That is the trouble with dismembered country squires- they are notoriously difficult to schedule,"

"Did you catch a murderer, Mr. Holmes," Billy asked, curiously.

"Caught the murderer, still looking for the legs. Think we'll call it a draw,"

As Holmes entered the building, Mrs. Hudson turned towards Watson. "I noticed you've published another of your stories, Doctor Watson,"

"Yes, did you enjoy it?"

"No," Mrs. Hudson replied after a second's thought before heading into the building. 

"Oh?" Watson asked as he followed her inside. 

"I never enjoy them,"

"Why not?"

"Well, I never say anything, do I? According to you, I just show people up the stairs and serve you breakfasts,"

"Well, within the narrative, that is, broadly speaking, your function,"

"My what?"

"Don't feel singled out," Holmes commented from the landing. "I'm hardly in the dog one,"

"'The dog one'?" Watson asked. "Do you mean 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'?"

"I'm your landlady, not a plot device," Mrs. Hudson scolded as Watson followed Holmes into the flat. "And you make the room so drab and dingy,"

"Oh, blame it on the illustrator. He's out of control. I've had to grow this moustache just so people will recognise me,"

As soon as Holmes entered the room, he went to the windows and opened the curtains to let more light in. He turned around to see a woman dressed in black with a veil hiding her face in the room facing the fire.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called from the doorway and down the stairs. "There is a woman in my sitting room! Is it intentional?"

"She's a client!" Mrs. Hudson called from the ground floor. "Said you were out; insisted on waiting,"

"Didn't you ask her what she wanted?"

"You ask her!"

"Why didn't you ask her?"

"How could I, what with me not talking and everything?"

Holmes turned back around as Watson offered their client a chair. "Oh for God's sake," Holmes whispered to Watson "Give her some lines. She is perfectly capable of starving us,"

He then turned towards the woman in the room. "Good afternoon. I am Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend and colleague, Doctor Watson. You may speak freely in front of him as he rarely understands a word. However, before you do, allow me to make son trifling observations," Holmes walked closer and circled the woman before stopping in front of her. "You have an impish sense of humour which currently you're deploying to ease a degree of personal anguish," He then walked towards Watson and circled around him one time, continuing his observations. "You have recently married a man of seemingly kindly disposition who has now abandoned you for what many consider an unsavoury companion of dubious morals. You have come to this agency as a last resort in hope that reconciliation may still be possible,"

"Good Lord, Holmes," Watson commented, amazed at his friend's deductions.

"All of this is, of course, perfectly evident from your perfume,"

"Her perfume?"

"Yes, her perfume, which brings insight to me and disaster to you,"

"How so?"

"Because I recognised it and you did not," Holmes stepped towards the woman and removed her veil from her face.

Watson's face grew into shock as his wife stood in the flat with a smile on her face. "Mary!"

"John," Mary said with a smile.

"Why, in God's name, are you pretending to be a client,"

She gave him a false smile. "Because I could think of no other way to see my husband. Husband,"

As the married couple talked, Holmes removed his coat and put on his dressing-gown. He needed to think. The banter behind him was not helping either. Instinctively, he picked up his violin and began to play.

"It was an affair of international intrigue," Watson argued as he paced in front of his wife.

"It was a murdered county squire," Mrs. Watson fired back. "I don't mind you going, my darling. I mind you leaving me behind,"

"But what could you do?"

"What do you do except wander around, take notes, and look surprised?"

"Enough," Holmes stated, lowering his violin. The Watsons turned their heads towards him in anticipation. "The stage is set, the curtain rises, we are ready to begin,"

"Begin what?" Mrs. Watson asked

"Sometimes to solve a case, one must first solve another. I shall have to go deep into myself," Holmes gazed out the window at the people passing by, going about their lives. "Lestrade!," He called over his shoulder "Do stop loitering by the door and come in,"

The door to the sitting room opened and the anxious-looking Inspector Lestrade entered. He gave a quick glance at the table before looking at the people in the room.

"How did you know it was me?" The Inspector asked.

"The regulation tread is unmistakable," Holmes said as he sat down in his chair. "Lighter than Jones and heavier than Gregson,"

"I-I-I," He began to stutter "I just came up. Mrs. Hudson didn't seem to be talking,"

Holmes rolled his eyes as he filled his pipe with tobacco hidden in one of his slippers. "I fear she's branched into literary criticism. What brings you here in your off-duty hours?"

"How'd you know I am off-duty,"

"Well, since your arrival, you've addressed over forty percent of your remarks to my decanter. Watson, give the inspector what he so clearly wants,"

Watson did as he was told and handed the inspector a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the table. "So, Lestrade, what can we do for you?

"Oh, I'm not here on business. I thought I'd... drop by,"

"A social call?" Watson asked, not entirely believing what the inspector had to say as he downed the whiskey in one sip.

"Merry Christmas?" Lestrade said, the tail end of his good wishes raised.

"Thank God that's over," Holmes commented, hating any type of useless social calls. "Now, Inspector, what strange happening compels you to my door but embarrasses you to relate?"

"Who said anything happened,"

"You did, by every means short of actual speech,"

Watson raised a finger. "Holmes? You have misdiagnosed,"

"Then correct me, Doctor,"

"He didn't want a drink," Watson took the glass from Lestrade and turned it upside down. "He needed one. He's not embarrassed; he's afraid,"

Sherlock smirked at the Doctor's observations. He looked up at Mary, who smiled down at him."My Boswell is learning. They do grow up so fast," He turned his attention back to his friend and the inspector. "Watson. restore the courage Scotland Yard. Inspector, sit down," 

Lestrade picked up the client's chair and placed it beside Watson's armchair. "I'm-I'm not afraid, exactly,"

"Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. It is nothing to be ashamed of. From the beginning then,"

"It started only yesterday morning. A woman in a wedding dress with two pistols began to shoot the streets in Central London from the balcony,"

"A Moment," Holmes interrupted "The bride's face, how was it described?"

Lestrade opened his notebook. "White as death, mouth like a crimson wound,"

"Poetry or truth?"

"Many would say they're the same thing,"

Holmes sighed in exasperation. "Yes, idiots. Poetry or truth,"

"I saw her face after..."

"After what?"

"The bride lowered her left pistol and aimed her right pistol min her mouth. Within seconds, there was blood on the white curtains behind her,"

"Really, Lestrade. A woman blows her own brains out in public and you need help identifying the guilty party. I fear Scotland Yard has reached a new low,"

"That's not why I'm here,"

"I surmised,"

Watson, who was taking his own notes about the case, raised his finger. "What was her name, the bride?"

"Emelia Ricoletti," Lestrade answered, taking a sip from his refilled glass. "Yesterday was her wedding anniversary. The police, of course, were called and her body taken to the morgue,"

"Yes, standard procedure," Holmes commented, "Why are you telling us what may be presumed?"

"Because of what happened next. Limehouse, just a few hours later. Thomas Ricoletti, Emilia Ricoletti's husband,"

"Presumably on his way to the morgue to identify her remains,"

"As it turns out, he was saved the trip.  According to the police constable who was there, a bride singing a song slowly walked up to Thomas who positively identified her as Emilia. The back of her head was covered in blood. The bride then shot Thomas twice before disappearing into the night fog,"

"'till death do us part. Twice in this case," Holmes said.

"Extraordinary!" Watson exclaimed in amazement at the idea of someone coming back to life.

"Superb!" Holmes said, jumping out of his chair. "Suicide as street theatre; murder by the corpse. Lestrade, you're spoiling us. Watson, your hat and coat," 

Watson stood up, confused, but used to this behaviour. "Where are we going?"

"To the morgue. There's not a moment to lose," He removed his dressing-gown and put on his coat. "Which one can so rarely say of a morgue,"

"And I am just to sit here?" Mrs. Watson asked, annoyed at being left out once more.

"Not at all, my dear," Watson said as he tapped her chin with his index finger. "We'll be hungry later," He turned his attention to his colleague on the landing. "Holmes, just one thing? Tweeds, in a morgue?"

"Needs must when the devil drives, Watson," Holmes replied before they both headed down the stairs.

"Ma'am," Inspector Lestrade said, tipping his hat out of respect to Mary Watson.

"I'm part of a campaign you know. Votes for Women," Mrs. Watson said proudly.

Lestrade blinked in confusion for a second. "And are you- are you for or against?"

Mary immediately pointed to the door, "Get out,"

As soon as he left the flat, Mary sat down in her husband's chair and sighed.

"Ooh ooh," Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door to the sitting room. "Have they gone off again? I dunno- what a life those gentlemen lead,"

"Yes," Mary responded in a bitter tone "Those gentlemen,"

"Ooh, almost forgot," Mrs. Hudson said as she handed Mary an envelope. "That came for you,"

Mary excitedly took the letter and opened it. on one side of the card, it said:

Immediately

And on the other side:

M

"Mrs. Hudson, tell my husband I'll be home late. I have some urgent business,"

"Is everything alright?"

"Oh, you know, just a... friend in need,"

"Oh dear, what friend?"

"England," Mary said with a smile as she headed down the stairs.

"Well, that's not very specific," Mrs. Hudson said to herself.

Chapter Text

Holmes, Lestrade, and Watson sat in a cab on the way to the morgue. 

"Who's on mortuary duty?" Holmes asked as Watson stared out the window. 

"You know who,"

"Always him," Holmes said, his irritation present.

The three entered the underground morgue; the same one Holmes and Watson met in. 

"Please tell me which idiot did this?" Holmes exclaimed, referencing the sheeted body chained to the table. 

"It's for everyone's safety," Anderson, one of the mortuary workers, said as he walked towards the group.

Watson pulled back the sheet to reveal the accurately described face of Emilia Ricoletti. "This woman is dead. Half of her head is missing. She is not a threat to anyone!"

"Tell that to her husband," Anderson countered, pointing to another body across the room. "He's under the sheet over there,"

"Whatever happened in Limehouse last night, I think we can safely assume it wasn't the work of a dead woman," Holmes added.

"Stranger things have happened," 

"Such as?" Holmes tested, losing the little patience he already had.

Anderson hesitated. "Well... strange things,"

"You're speaking like a child," Watson commented, not even looking up from the body of Emilia.

"This is clearly a man's work. Where is he?" Holmes stated, joining Watson in examining the body.

Before Anderson could answer, a door opened. Holmes let out an exasperated sigh as a familiar brunet entered. The man was shorter than Holmes, about the same height as Watson, but with a smaller build and an equally impressive moustache. 

"Holmes," The man greeted coldly.

"Hooper," Holmes replied with the same attitude. 

"You," Hopper ordered, turning his attention to Anderson "Get back to work,"

Anderson nodded nervously and did as he was told. 

"So, come to astonish us with your magic tricks?" Hooper asked as Holmes joined him next to the corpse.

"Is there anything to which you would like to draw my attention?"

"Nothing at all Mr. Holmes. You may leave any time you like,"

"Doctor Hooper?" Lestrade interjected "I asked Mr Holmes to come here. Co-operate. That's an order,"

Hooper took a deep breath as he turned his attention back to the body. "There are two 'features of interest,' as you are always saying in Doctor Watson's stories,"

"I never say that," Holmes protested.

"You do, actually, quite a lot," Watson answered, causing the taller man to narrow his eyes.

"First of all," Hooper continued "This is definitely Emilia Ricoletti. She has been categorically identified. Beyond a doubt it is her,"

"Then who was that in Limehouse last night?" Watson asked as Holmes observed the body closer with a small magnifying glass.

"That was also Emilia Ricoletti,"

"It can't have been," Watson protested. "She was dead. She was here,"

"She was positively identified by her own husband seconds before he died. He had no reason to lie. He could hardly be mistaken,"

"The cabbie knew her too. There is no question it's her," Lestrade added.

"But she can't have been in two places at the same time, can she?" Watson thought out loud

Holmes straightened up, "No, Watson. One place is strictly the limit for the recently deceased,"

"Holmes, could it have been twins?" Watson asked with a snap of his fingers. 

"No," Holmes said, shutting down Watson immediately. 

"Why not?"

"Because it is never twins,"

"Emelia was not a twin, nor did she have any sisters," Lestrade read aloud from his notes. "She had one older brother who died four years ago,"

"Maybe it was a secret twin," Watson murmured to himself.

Holmes looked at his friend, amazed by the words coming out of his mouth. "A what?"

"A secret twin?" Watson repeated, slightly more unsure of his idea. " You know? A twin nobody knows about? The whole thing could have been planned,"

"Since the moment of conception? How breathtakingly prescient of her! It is never twins,"

"Then what is your theory?"

"More importantly..." Holmes turned to Lestrade, "...what's your problem?"

Lestrade turned his attention from the body back to Holmes. "I-I don't understand. What..."

"Why were you so frightened? Nothing so far has justified your assault on my decanter, and why have you allowed a dead woman to be placed under arrest?" Holmes gestured to the chains tying down the body to the slab.

"Ah," Hooper chimed in "That would be the other feature of interest," He proceeded to lift the right hand of the corpse, showing the men Emelia's index finger.

"A smear of blood on her finger," Watson observed as the two men bent down to get a closer look. "That could have happened any number of ways,"

"Indeed. There's one other thing," Hooper lowered the hand and stared at Holmes. "It wasn't there before,"

Holmes straightened up with interest. A million thoughts began to enter his head.

"And neither was this," Lestrade added as he walked to the far wall with a lantern. 

On the wall, a single word was painted in the same red colour as the one on Emilia's finger.

YOU

Holmes stared at the word on the wall. "Cun in the mouth; a bullet through the brain; how could he survive?"

"She, you mean," Watson corrected.

"I'm sorry?"

"Not 'he', 'she'"

"Yes, of course," Holmes said absently. It took a few seconds for him to come back into his thoughts. "Well," he said, returning to his normal self. "Thank you all for a fascinating case. I'll send you a telegram when I've solved it," he said to Lestrade. "Watson?"

Watson watched as both Lestrade and Holmes left the morgue before turning back to Hooper. "Er, the gunshot wound was obviously the cause of death, but there are clear indicators of consumption. Might be worth a post mortem. We need all the information we can get,"

As he turned to leave, Hooper spoke up. "Oh, isn't he observant now that Daddy's gone?"

Watson stopped at Hooper's comment and walked back to the shorter man. "I am observant in some ways, just as Holmes is quite blind in others,"

"Really?" Hooper taunted

"Yes, really," Watson, looked over Hooper and whispered "Amazing what one has to do to get ahead in a man's world,"

Hooper stiffened and Watson tipped his hat, knowing his point was made. 

"What's he saying that for?" Anderson asked, having heard Watson's comment.

Hooper took a breath as he turned to his subordinate. "Get back to work," 

Anderson followed orders, missing the pensive look on his boss's face.

"Well, Holmes?" Watson asked his friend as they headed back to 221B in a cab, "You must have some theory,"

"Not yet," Holmes mumbled "These are deep waters, Watson. Deep waters," He turned his head and looked out the window. "And I shall have to go deeper still,"

Over the next few months, hundreds of reports of the ghost of Emelia Ricoletti began to make headlines.

"Five of them now," Lestrade said as he sat in the sitting room of 221B. "All the same, every one of 'em,"

Holmes, who was pacing the room in his dressing-gown had his nose in a book, didn't bother looking up at the inspector. "Hush, please. This is a matter of supreme importance,"

"What is?"

"THe obliquity of the ecliptic. I have to understand it,"

"What is it?"

"I don't know," Holmes responded tetchily, "I am still trying to understand it,"

"I thought you understood everything," Lestrade said, slightly amused that the great Sherlock Holmes was clueless on at least one subject matter.

"Of course not. That would be an appalling waste of brain space,"

"What's so important about this?"

"What's so important about five boring murders?" Holmes snapped.

"They are not boring!" Lestrade argued "Five men dead; murdered in their own homes; rice on the floor, like a wedding; and the word 'YOU' written in blood on the wall!" He pointed at the opposite wall to drive his point further. Holmes naturally ignored him and continued to turn the page in his book.

"It's her!" Lestrade continued. "It's the Bride. Somehow she's risen again!"

"Solve it," Holmes announced nonchalantly

"You can't have solved it!" Lestrade cried in anguish.

Holmes stopped his pacing and looked up at Lestrade. "Of course I've solved it. It's perfectly simple. 'The Incident of the Mysterious Mrs. Ricoletti, the Killer from Beyond the Grave', has been widely reported in the popular press. Noe people are disguising their own dull little murders as the work of a ghost to confuse the impossibly imbecilic Scotland Yard. There you are, solved," 

Lestrade stared at the man.

Holmes snapped his book shut and placed it on the table. "Do pay Mrs. Hudson a visit on your way out. She likes to feel involved," 

"You sure?"

"Certainly. Watson!" He called towards the sitting room "I'm ready. Get your hat and boots. We have an important appointment,"

Lestrade paused at the doorway. "Didn't Doctor Watson move out a few months ago?"

Holmes paused for a moment. "He did, didn't he? Who have I been talking to all this time?" Wasn't there someone else that kept up?

"Well speaking on behalf of the imbecilic Scotland Yard, that armchair has been empty since I've arrived,"

"It has been, hasn't it? Works surprisingly well, though. I actually thought he was improving," 

Holmes looked around at the papers on the table before heading towards his bedroom.

**

Watson sat at his dining table in his home in London, a copy of the paper was open in his hands. A part of him was more focused on the empty seat across from him. The seat which should have been filled by his wife. Annoyed at the lack of breakfast in front of him, he rang a little bell. No response. He rang it once more. After the third time, the door to the dining room opened and a maid entered quickly.

"Ah," He greeted with fake happiness. "Where have you been?"

"Sorry, sir," The maid, Jane, replied from the opposite corner of the dining table. "I'm rather behind my time this morning,"

"Are you incapable of boiling an egg?" He asked angrily "The fires are barely lit; there is duct everywhere, and you almost destroyed my boots scraping the mud off them. If it wasn't my wife's business to take deal with the staff, I would talk to you myself," Watson looked across at the empty seat once more. "Where is my wife?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the mistress has gone out,"

"Out?" Watson repeated in disbelief. "At this hour of the morning?"

"Yes, sir. Did you not know that, sir?"

"Where did she go?" Watson asked, ignoring his maid's comment and muttering to himself. "She's always out these days,"

"Not unlike yourself..." Jane said with a slight laugh. "Sir," she finished after Watson gave her a stern look.

"I'm sorry?" 

"Just observing, sir," Jane shrugged

"Well, that's quite enough," Watson said warningly. "Nobody asked you to be observant,"

"Sorry, sir. I just meant you're hardly ever home together anymore, sir,"

Watson's mouth opened in amazement at the words coming out of Jane's mouth. "You are dangerously close to impertinence," He lowered his paper and leaned forward to stare at Jane. "I shall have a word with my wife to have a word with you,"

"Very good, sir. And when will you be seeing her?"

Watson's eyes narrowed. "Now listen here-"

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Jane interrupted, reaching into her pocket to pull out a telegram. "Er, a  telegram came for you,"

"You forgot?" John retorted.

"No," Jane replied in an equal tone. "I nearly forgot,"

"What have you been doing all morning?" Watson demanded as he snatched the telegram out of her hand. 

"Reading your new one in 'The Strand', sir," Jane answered why a small smile.

Watson paused at her answer. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Why do you never mention me, sir?" 

"Go away," He ordered. As soon as Jane left, he opened his telegram.

COME AT ONCE

IF CONVENIENT.

IF INCONVENIENT,

COME ALL THE SAME.

HOLMES

Watson dropped the telegram on the table and headed out the door before Jane could come back with his breakfast.

**

"The what of the what?" Watson asked as he sat next to Holmes in a cab.

"The obliquity of the ecliptic," Holmes repeated.

Watson let out an exasperated sigh. "'Come at once', you said. I assumed it was important,"

"It is. It's the inclination of the Earth's equator to the path of the sin on the celestial plane,"

"Have you been swotting up?"

"Why would I do that?"

"To sound clever,"

"I am clever,"

"Oh, I see," Watson realised with a sly smile. 

"You see what?" 

"I deduce we're on our way to see someone cleverer than you,"

There was a slight pause as Holmes began to sulk in his seat. "Shut up,"

Chapter Text

The two entered the Diogenes Club, a gentlemen's club that relied on the absolute silence of its members.

"Good morning, Wilder," Holmes smiling as he signed to the elderly man behind the front desk. "Is my brother in?"

"Naturally, sir," Wilder signed back. "It's breakfast time,"

"The Stranger's Room?"

"Yes, sir," Wildner nodded. 

Holmes gestured to Watson, who was struggling to keep up with the unspoken conversation. "This gentleman is my guest,"

Wilder turned to Watson and signed with enthusiasm. "Ah yes! Doctor Watson, of course. I enjoyed 'The Blue Carbuncle', sir,"

Holmes nudged his friend and nodded towards Wilder, hoping Watson would understand.

"Thank you," Watson signed back a little nervously. "I...am...glad...you...liked...it. You are very ugly,"

Holmes looked at his friend questioning what was just signed while Wilder looked in utter shock.

"Ugly," Watson repeated in sign language. "What you said about...'The Blue Fishmonger'. Very ugly. I am glad you liked...my potato,"

Wilder gave Holmes a look in confusion. Holmes, in turn, turned to his friend and signed that Watson needed to work on his sign language more.

Watson, not understanding, broke the rule of silence. "Sorry, what?"

Annoyed, Holmes rolled his eyes and walked away towards one of the private rooms to meet his brother.

"Oh," Watson muttered out loud again before giving Wilder a thumbs up.

Holmes entered The Stranger's Room, passing multiple tables filled with different puddings, cakes, and even a roast ham.

"To anyone who wishes to study mankind, this is the spot," Mycroft Holmes said as he popped the last bit of what he was eating into his mouth.

Watson closed the door behind him and joined Holmes, staring in horror at the amount of food that surrounded the elder Holmes. 

"Handy, really, as your ever-expanding backside is permanently glued to it," Holmes commented. "Good Morning, brother mine.

"Sherlock, Doctor Watson," Mycroft greeted, still chewing.

Watson reached out and shook Mycroft's hand. "You look... well, sir,"

"Really?" Mycroft raised a brow. "I rather thought I looked enormous," He picked up a glass of port wine and took a sip from it. 

"Well, now you mention it, this level of consumption is incredibly injurious to your health. Your heart-"

"No need to worry on that score, Watson," Holmes interjected.

"No?" Watson asked in confusion.

"There's only a large cavity where that organ should reside,"

"It's a family trait," Mycroft added.

"Oh, I was being critical," Holmes countered.

"I know," Mycroft challenged back. "Pity you didn't inherit the trait quite as well as I,"

Sensing the tension between the two brothers, Watson thought it best to redirect the subject of conversation. "If you continue like this," he addressed Mycroft. "I give you five years at the most,"

Mycroft raised a brow. "Five? We thought three, did we not, Sherlock?"

"I'm still inclined to four," Holmes replied with a slight smile. 

"You see but you do not observe," Mycroft pointed to his eyes with his large index finger. "Note the discolouration in the whites of my eyes, the visible rings of fat around the cornea,"

"Yes, your right," Holmes admitted. "I'm changing my bet to three years, four months and eleven days,"

"A bet?" Watson nearly shouted in outrage.

"I understand your disapproval, Watson, but if he's feeling competitive it is perfectly within his power to die early"

"That's a risk you'll have to take," Mycroft replied to his brother. 

"You're gambling with your own life?" Watson asked in disbelief. He was used to Holmes brothers having arguments, but betting on one's life was new to him.

"Why not?" Mycroft shrugged. "It's so much more exciting than gambling with others,"

"The years flat if you eat that plum pudding," Holmes said after a moment's thought.

"Done," Mycroft replied, immediately reaching over to pick up the pudding with his hands.

Once he was finished eating, Mycroft had the boys sit in two chairs across from him.

"I expected to see you a few days ago about the Manor House case," Mycroft began. "I thought you might be a little out of your depth there,"

"No, I solved it," Holmes replied, placing his cup of coffee in its saucer on the table.

"It was Adams, of course,"

"Yes, it was,"

"Murderous jealousy," Mycroft explained to Watson. "He'd written a paper for the 'Royal Astronomical Society' on the obliquity of the ecliptic, and then read another that seemed to surpass it,"

"I know. I read it," Holmes stated.

"Did you understand it?"

"Yes, of course I understood it. It was perfectly simple,"

"No, did you understand the murderous jealousy?" Mycroft corrected. "It is no easy thing for a great mind to contemplate a still greater one,"

"Did you summon me here just to humiliate me?" Holmes asked flatly.

"Of course not," Mycroft chided. "But it is by far the greater pleasure,"

"Then would you mind explaining why you did summon me-"

"Our way of life is under threat from an invisible enemy," Mycroft interrupted. "One that hovers at our elbow on a daily basis. These enemies are everywhere, undetected, and unstoppable,"

Both Watson and Holmes leaned a bit more further in interest.

"Socialists?" Watson suggested.

"Not socialists, Doctor, no,"

"Anarchists?"

"No,"

"The French? The Suffragists?" Waston kept guessing.

"Is there any large body of people you're not concerned about?" Mycroft asked dryly.

"Doctor Watson is endlessly vigilant," Holmes commented. "Elaborate," he ordered his brother.

"No, investigate," Mycroft countered. "This is a conjecture of mine. I need you to confirm it. I'm sending you a case. A woman will call on you- Lady Carmichael. I want you to take her case,"

"But the enemies," Watson asked. "How are we to defeat them if you won't tell us about them?"

"We don't defeat them," Mycroft answered. "We must certainly lose to them,"

"Why?"

"Because they are right, and we are wrong. Even I have come to that conclusion upon further inspection,"

"Lady Carmichael's case- what is it," Holmes asked. Only on very rare occasions did his brother send him a case. For the most part, the Holmes brothers let each other go about their lives in peace.

"Oh, rest assured, it has features of interest,"

"I never really say that," Holmes argued tetchily.

"You really do," Watson mumbled back.

Holmes ignored Watson's comment and turned his attention back to his brother. "And you've solved it already, I assume?"

"Only in my head. I need you for the legwork," Mycroft grimaced at the last bit.

"Why not just tell us your solution?" Watson asked.

"Where would be the sport in that?" Mycroft scoffed. "Will you do it, Sherlock?"

Holmes just stared at his brother. "On one condition. Have another plum pudding,"

"There's one on the way," Mycroft said in a lighter tone. 

"Two years, eleven months, and four days," Holmes said as he started to walk away.

"It's getting exciting now," Mycroft said in a sing-song voice.

As Holmes and Watson began to make their exit, Wilder entered with a trolley carrying more food.

"The telegram has been sent Mr. Holmes,"

Chapter Text

"Mr Holmes, I have come here for advice and help," Lady Carmichael said. She sat in front of Holmes and Watson in the client's chair. "Something has happened, Mr. Holmes-someting... unusual and terrifying,"

"Then you are in luck,"

Lady Carmichael scoffed at Holme's statement. "Luck?"

Holmes gave her a smile. "Those are my specialisms. This is really very promising,"

"Holmes," Watson gave his friend a slight warning. 

Holmes smile disappeared and turned back to Lady Carmichael. "Please tell us what has you so distressed,"

"I-I thought long and hard as to what to do, but then, it occurred to me that my husband was an acquaintance of your brother and that, perhaps through him..." she trailed off and took a minute to collect herself. "That fact is, I'm not sure this comes within your purview, Mr. Holmes,"

"No?"

"Lord help me, I think it may be a matter for a priest,"

"It started last Monday morning. We- Eustace and myself along with our children- were all at the table for breakfast. We were having our usual conversations when one of our footmen arrived with the mail for him. All seemed fine, but when he opened the first envelope his face grew pale and his face full of horror. As soon as the children left the table, I took a look at the envelope's contents myself. All that was inside was five orange pips. He said that it meant 'death'. He then adjusted his posture and said that it was nothing,"

"Did you keep the envelope?"

"My husband destroyed it- but it was blank with no name or address of any kind,"

"Tell me," Holmes began, leaning slightly more forward in his seat. "Has Sir Eustace spent time in America?

"No," Lady Carmichael answered, confused by the question.

"Not even before your marriage?"

"Well, not to my knowledge,"

Holmes late out a murmur in thought. "Pray continue with your... fascinating narrative,"

"It was two days later that my husband first saw her,"

It was the end of that statement that made Watson look up from his notes. "Who?

"On Wednesday night I woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed. Eustace was in our room staring out into the grounds of our home. I approached him, as any loving wife would do, and when I came up to him, he turned around. His face was full of terror. He kept saying that she was coming for him and that his sins were found out. Eustace clung to me for dear life and told me to look out into our gardens. I followed his instructions and saw nothing in the fog. He then insisted we go into the hedge maze. He's kept so many secrets from me and I want him to share why he is frightened so much. He kept insisting that it was the bride,"

"And you saw nothing?" Holmes asked.

"Nothing," Lady Carmichael confirmed.

"Did your husband describe?"

"Nothing-until early this morning. I again found Eustace in the hedge maze. I, of course, chased after him, but I lost him after a few turns. But when I did find him, I heard her, Mr Holmes, I heard her singing. She was dressed similarly and have a veil over her face. She said he will die, tonight,"

Holmes sat in his chair, his hands in their thinking position.

"Holmes?" Watson asked, curious to hear any theories that his friend had come up with.

"Hush, Watson," Holmes said, still deep in thoughts.

"But Emelia Ricoletti, the Bride!"

"You know the name?" Lady Carmichael asked, surprised. 

"You must forgive Watson," Homes interjected, taking a brief moment away from his thoughts. "He has an enthusiasm for stating the obvious, which borders on mania. May I ask, how his your husband this morning?"

"He refuses to speak about the matter," Lady Carmichael answered slightly annoyed at her husband's secrets. "Obviously I urged him to leave the house,"

"No, no!" Holmes interjected. "He must stay exactly where he is,"

"Well, Mr Holmes, do you think he is in danger?"

"Oh no, somebody definitely wants to kill him, but that's good for us,"

Lady Carmichael starred at the famed detective for a few seconds, trying to grasp at the words coming out of his mouth.

"You can't set a trap without bait," Holmes added with a smile.

"My husband is not bait," Lady Carmichael argued.

"No, but he could be," Holmes replied airily. "If we play our cards right. Now listen: you must go home immediately. Doctor Watson and I will follow on the next train. There's not a moment to lose. Sir Eustace is to die tonight,"

"Holmes!" Watson interjected with a warning in his voice.

"And we should probably avoid that," Holmes rectified.

"Definitely avoid that," Watson confirmed.

Lady Carmichael nodded but was obviously overwhelmed.

...

"You don't suppose..." Watson began.

"I don't, and neither should you," Holmes responded, his eyes closed. The two sat in the train carriages on their way to visit the Carmichael home.

"You don't know what I was about to say,"

"You were about to suggest there may be some supernatural agency involved in this matter and I was about to laugh in your face,"

"But the bride, Holmes," Watson protested. "Emelia Ricoletti, again. A dead woman walking the Earth!"

Holmes let out a loud sigh and opened his eyes to see his friend. "You amaze me, Watson,"

"I do?"

"Since when have you had any kind of imagination?"

"Perhaps since I convinced the reading public that an unprincipled drug addict is some kind of gentleman hero," Watson retorted.

"Yes, now that you come to mention it, that was quite impressive," Holmes contemplated. "Of course, you should be assured that there are no ghosts in this world... save those we make for ourselves,"

The Stately home of the Carmichaels was as to be expected from those in the aristocracy. Sir Eustace stood by the sitting room's lit fireplace with Watson standing across from him while Holmes paced back and forth, observing every detail.

"Somnabulism," Sir Eustace said.

"I beg your pardon?" Watson asked.

"I sleepwalk, that's all," Sir Eustace explained further. "It is a common enough condition. I thought you were a doctor," He added in a dismissive tone. "The whole thing was a... bad dream,"

Sir Eustace gave them a small smile but both Watson and Holmes could see the bags under his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and twitching slightly out of fear. Every so often.. Sir Eustace would look past the men and out the window that faced the manor's hedge maze.

"Including the contents of the envelope you received?" Watson added.

"Well, that's a grotesque joke,"

"THat's not the impression you gave your wife, sir,"

"She's a hysteric, prone to fancies," Sir Eustace brushed off.

"No," Holmes replied shortly. 

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Sir Eustace demanded.

"I said no," Holmes repeated. "She's not a hysteric. She's a highly intelligent woman of rare perception. And I rarely ever say that,"

Sir Eustace's eyes narrowed as Holmes took a step closer to him. "My wife sees terror in an orange pip,"

"Your wife sees worlds when no one else can see anything of value whatsoever,"

Sir Eustace scoffed at Holme's statement. "Can she really? And how do you 'deduce' that, Mr. Holmes?"

"She married you. I assume she was capable of finding a reason,"

By now, Sir Eustace was become red out of anger. 

"I'll do my best to save your life tonight, but first it would help if you would explain your connection to the Ricoletti case,"

The mere mention of the Bride's name forced the colour to slightly drain from Sir Eustace's face. "Ricoletti?"

"Yes. In detail, please,"

"I've never heard of her,"

Holmes cocked his head to the side. "Interesting. I never mentioned Riccoletti was a woman. We'll show ourselves out. I do hope to see you again in the morning,"

Once again, Sir Eustace was red in the face. "You will not" he exclaimed as Holmes and Watson headed for the door. 

Holmes turned around, refusing to allow Sir Eustace to have the last word. "Then sadly I shall be solving your murder. Good day," Watson promptly closed the door behind them

Chapter Text

Watson grunted as he stood up from the hiding spot. It was now nighttime and he and Holmes sat in a greenhouse outside the Carmichael house. 

"Get down, Watson!" Holmes ordered from right beside him. "For heaven's sake,"

Watson quickly did as he was told, rubbing his leg. "Sorry, cramp,"

"I instructed Lady Carmichael to sleep alone tonight. All the doors and windows of the house are locked,"

"And you think the spectre..." Holmes gave Watson a glare "... I mean the Bride will attempt to lure out Sir Eustace again?"

"Certainly. Why else the portentous threat?"

"Well, he won't follow the Bride, surely?"

"It's difficult to say quite what he will do. Guil is eating away at his soul."

"Guilt? About what?"

"Something in his past. The orange pips were a reminder,"

"What do you mean?"

"Orange pips are a traditional warning of avenging death, originating in America. Sir Eustance knows this only too well. just as he knows why he is to be punished,"

"Something to do with Emelia Ricoletti,"

Holmes hummed in acknowledgement. "I presume. We all have a past, Watson. Ghosts- they are the shadows that define our every sunny day., Sir Eustace knows he is a marked man. There's something more than murder he fears. He believes he is to be dragged to hell by the risen corpse of the late Mrs Ricoletti,"

"Is the lamp still burning?" Watson asked.

Holmes looked up at the windows across from them. Only a few were lit. Almost immediately, the lamp went out. "There does Sir Eustace," He turned his attention to another lit window that went dark a moment later. "And Lady Carmichel. The house sleeps," 

"It's a lot of nonsense, isn't it?"

"God, yes. Did you bring your revolver?"

"What good would that be against a ghost?"

"Exactly. Did you bring it?"

"Yeah, of course," Watson took a second to look at his pocket watch. "Only midnight. You know, it's rare for us to sit together like this,"

"I should hope so. It's murder on the knees,"

"She's a remarkable woman,"

"Who?"

"Lady Carmichael. You liked her. A 'woman of rare perception'. She's far too good for him,"

"You think so?"

"On the contrary, I have no view on the matter,"

"Yes, you have," Watson countered.

Holmes took a breath. "Marriage is not a subject upon which I dwell,"

"Well, why not? That watch you are wearing:" Watson pointed to the pocket watch on Holmes' coat "There's a photograph inside it.  I glimpse it once. I believe it is of Irene Adler,"

"You didn't glimpse it," Holmes argued. "You waited until I had fallen asleep and looked at it,"

"Yes, I did," Watson freely admitted. "You thought I wouldn't notice. I can be just as observant as you. It is a very nice photograph,"

"Why are you talking like this?"

"Why are you so determined to be alone? Holmes, against absolutely no opposition whatsoever, I am your closest friend. Why do you need to be alone,"

"If you are referring to romantic entanglement, Watson- which I rather fear you are- as I have often explained before, all emotion is abhorrent to me.

"That is not true,"

"It the grit in sensitive instrument-"

"-a crack in the lens," Watson finished.

"There you are, you see? I've said it all before,"

"No, I wrote all that. You're quoting yourself from 'The Strand'. Those are my words. That is the version of you that I present to the public: the brain without a heart; the calculating machine. I write all of that, Holmes, and the readers lap it up, but that does not mean that I believe it. You are a living, breathing man. You've lived a life, you have a past,"

"A what!"

"Well, you must've had..."

"Had what?"

"You know,"

"No,"

Watson swallowed, feeling uncomfortable as he elaborated. "Experiences,"

Holmes inhaled, partially out of annoyance at Watson and held out his hand. "Pass me your revolver. I have a sudden need to use it,"

"Damn it, Holmes!" Watson snapped. "You are flesh and blood. You have feelings. I see how you watch the streets below our flat, how you look for her out the window when we are riding through Central London,"

Holmes closed his eyes in exasperation. "Dear Lord, I have never been so impatient to be attacked by a murderous ghost,"

"As your friend- as someone who worries about you- what made you like this?"

Holmes opened his eyes and looked sympathetically. "Oh, Watson. Nothing made me. I made me,"

"Good God!" Watson exclaimed. 

Holmes followed Watson's gaze towards a dark archway and to the illuminated figure. Veiled and floating above the ground, the Bride had arrived. The figure raised her hand as if she wanted the detective to come closer. Immediately springing into action, Holmes ran across the garden with Watson close behind.

"Mrs Ricoletti, I believe," Holmes called out. He and Watson stopped outside the porch of the house, only a few yards away from the ghost. 

Still floating near the doorway, the Bride lowered her hand, her finger splayed threateningly. 

"Pleasant night for this time of year," Holmes continued. 

Watson grabbed a hold of Holmes' arm. "It cannot be true, Holmes, it cannot,"

"No, it can't" Holmes confirmed.

The Bride began to float back towards the door and into the shadows. Suddenly, the men heard a scream come from inside the house. The scream caused both men to turn towards Sir Eustace's window. At the same time, they heard glass shatter. Holmes turned his back to where the sound of glass came from before running up to the front door, checking that the door was still locked,"

"Is it locked?" Watson asked, still by the archway.

"As per instructions," Holmes confirmed as he walked back to his friend. 

"That was a window breaking, wasn't it?"

"There's only one broken window we need concern ourselves with,"

Holmes turned again and ran to the nearest window with Watson following close behind. Using his elbow, Holmes broke the glass and climbed into the house. As Watson entered the home, Holmes lit a lantern. 

"Stay in here, Watson," Holmes ordered. 

"What? No!" Watson protested.

"All the doors and windows are locked," He motioned to the now broken window. "This is their only way out. I need you here,"

Holmes picked up the lit lantern and began to hurry away.

"But the sound was so close, it has to be from this side of the house," Watson argued.

"Stay here," Homes repeated as he took off into the rest of the house.

Watson nervously turned back to the window behind him. It was at times like this, the doctor wished there was another member of their team who could not only keep up mentally with his friend but also keep him company when Holmes went on one of his tangents.

Holmes ran up the stairs, following the sound of Lady Carmichael's screams. He stopped at the landing where two other maids ran past him. Following their lead, Holmes continued up the stairs to find Lady Carmichael in a blood-soaked nightdress. 

"You promised to keep him safe!" Lady Carmichael screamed at the detective. "You promised!" Her face was full of anger and fear. Holmes turned back around and followed the trail of fresh blood down along the landing.

Watson aimed his revolver at the ceiling, cocking it in the process. "You're human, I know that," He said to the air. The floorboards began to creak again. Slowly lowering the gun, he walked across the broken glass from the window and out into the hallway. Watson placed his revolver on the small table beside him and lit a candle to illuminate the corridor. "After all, this is the nineteenth century," he mumbled.

Holmes ran up another flight of stairs and shined his lantern left and right before he spotted a man lying on his side on the floor. He slowly walked closer to the figure and turned them over, revealing them to be Sir Eustace with an ornate dagger sticking out of a bloodied chest. His eyes glossed over; immortalising the fear the man felt at the time of death. Holmes was looking closer at the body, taking in every detail possible when he heard a scream coming from the stairs behind him. "Watson!"

There was a breeze in the hallway; strong enough to cause goosebumps and blow out the candle that Watson was holding. Watson's eyes widened in fear at the darkness that now surrounded him. After relighting the candle, he picked up his revolver and turned to the hall; unaware of the Bride that stood behind him.

"Do not forget me," The Bride sang in a spine-chilling voice. She stopped only a few feet behind him.

Scared out of his mind, Watson slowly turned around to find himself face to face with the infamous bride. She lifted her arms, displaying her bloodstained hands and her claw-like nails, and let out a half-hiss half-scream causing Watson to drop the candle and run into the hallway. Once safe, he turned around looking for the Bride.

"Watson!" Holmes called out, racing down the stairs and nearly knocking the doctor to the ground.

"She's there!" Watson pointed down towards the corridor. "She's down there!"

"Don't tell me you abandoned your post," Holmes snarled.

"What? Holmes, she's down there. I saw her!" Watson pointed his revolver down the hallway for extra emphasis.

Holmes aimed his lamp down the corridor ahead of him as he sprinted to where Watson was pointing only to find the broken window. Angrily, he turned back towards Watson, who was chasing after him. "Empty, thanks to you!" Holmes chastised. "Our bird has flown,"

"No, Holmes, it wasn't what you think. I saw her- the ghost,"

"THERE ARE NO GHOSTS!" Holmes yelled angrily before composing himself.

"What happened? Where is Sir Eustace?"

"Dead,"

Chapter Text

"You really mustn't blame yourself, you know," Lestrade said to Holmes. The three were at the top of the stairs, watching as a photographer take photos of Sir Eustace's dead body.

"No, you're quite right," Homes muttered, angrier at the fact that they didn't uncover the bride.

"I'm glad you're seeing sense," Watson muttered under his breath

"Watson is equally culpable," Homes added. "Between us, we've managed to botch this whole case. I gave an undertaking to protect that man; now he's lying there with a dagger in his breast,"

Watson walked towards the body and squatted down next to it. "In fact, you gave an undertaking to investigate his murder,"

"In the confident expectation I would not have to," Holmes responded angrily.

"Anything you can tell us, Doctor?" Lestrade asked, ready to take in any information that either man could give him.

"Well, he's been stabbed with considerable force," Watson observed.

"It's a man, then,"

"Possibly,"

Lestrade thought for a moment as he looked at the weapon. "A very keen blade, so it could conceivably be a woman,"

Watson stood back up. "In theory, yes, but we all know who it was. I saw her,"

"Watson," Holmes warned. 

"I saw the ghost with my own eyes!" Watson yelled, furious at the lack of belief in his tale.

"You saw nothing! You saw what you are supposed to see!" Holmes countered. "Use your brain. To eliminate the impossible- which in this case is the ghost- and observe what remains- which in this case is a solution so blindingly obvious, even Lesreade could work it out!"

"Thank you," Lestrade muttered.

"Forget spectres from the otherworld. There is only one suspect with notice and opportunity. They might as well have left a note," Holmes continued.

"They did leave a note," Lestrade commented.

"And then there is the matter of the other broken window,"

"What other broken window?"

"Precisely. There isn't one. The only broken window in this establishment is the one Watson and I entered through, yet prior to that, we distinctly heard the sound of-" Holmes paused and turned to Lestrade. "What did you just say?"

Lestrade blinked in confusion. "Sorry?" 

"About a note. What did you just say?"

"I said the murderer did leave a note,"

Holmes frowned. "No, they didn't,"

"There's a message tied to the dagger. You must've seen It!"

"There's no message! There was no message when I found the body!"

Holmes looked down at the body. Lopped around the hilt of the dagger was a piece of string with a label attached. Squatting down, Holmes picked up the label and turned it over, his eyes widening as he read the message.

MISS ME?

"Holmes?" Watson asked, noticing the change of mood in the room.

Holmes refused to acknowledge his friend and headed down the stairs. Watson walked over to the body and read the label. He immediately frowned and began to think what the letter meant.

***

Sherlock paced in front of his brother in The Stranger's Room.

"Do you?" Mycroft asked, breaking the silence in the room.

Holmes paused and turned to look at his brother. "Do I what?"

Mycroft held up the bloodstained tag in his hand. 

"How did you get that? I left it at the crime scene,"

Mycroft placed the tag on the table beside him and folded his hands over his bulbous lap. "'Crime scene'? Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions?"

"Answer the question," Holmes said.

"I have my sources. Do you miss him?"

"Moriarty is dead," Holmes replied shortly.

"And yet..."

Holmes pursed his lips. "His body was never recovered.

"It's to be expected when one pushes a maths professor over a waterfall. Pure reason toppled by sheer melodrama. Your life in a nutshell,"

"'Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions?'" Holmes countered, using his brother's words. He turned around again to take a look at Turner's famous painting: Falls of the Reichenbach. Just for a moment, he saw the water moving, pouring over the falls and disappearing into the abyss hidden by a boulder. He took a sniff in disdain and turned his attention back towards his brother. "Have you put on weight?"

"You saw me only yesterday, does that seem possible?" Mycroft asked lightly. though, there was a hint of seriousness hidden in his tone.

Holmes circled him slowly. "No,"

Mycroft held out his hands, showing off his figure. "Yet here I am, increased. What does that tell the foremost criminal investigator in England?"

"In England?" Holmes asked, dissatisfied.

"You're in deep, Sherlock. Deeper than you ever intended to be. Have you made a list?"

"Of what?"

"Of everything. We will need a list,"

Holmes took a breath and revealed a piece of paper from his breast pocket. He walked up to his brother, who reached out for the paper. But before Mycroft could grab it, Holmes lifted it higher before putting it back in his breast pocket. "I haven't finished yet,"

"Moriarty may beg to differ," Mycroft commented.

Holmes let out a sigh and sat down across his brother, his hands in their thinking position. "He's trying to distract me. To derail me from what is important,"

"And what is important?"

"I have to finish this,"

"If Moriarty has risen, he will seek you out,"

Holmes got up from his seat and headed for the door. "And I'll be waiting," He said before leaving his brother to sit alone.

"Yes," Mycroft said softly. "I'm very much afraid you will.

Holmes sat on the floor of 221B's sitting room, his blue dressing gown over his clothes. His legs were crossed and his hands in their thinking position, he was deep in his mind palace. Newspapers surrounded him. Some covering the death of Sir Eustace, others about the Bride's appearance in Islington.

"Two days he's been like that," Mrs Hudson whispered to Lestrade. Both of them stood in the doorway to the sitting room.

"Has he eaten?" 

Mrs Hudson shook her head. "Not a morsel. Sometimes I wish that he would have someone else who would encourage him to take care of himself. And those reporters are here all the time. I can't get rid of them. I've been rushed off my feet making tea,"

Lestrade looked down at the shorter woman, confused. "Why d'you make them tea?"

Mrs Hudson shrugged. "I don't know. I just sort of do,"

The two turned their attention back to Holmes. 

"He said there's only one suspect and then he just walks away and now he won't explain,"

"Which is strange because he likes that bit," Mrs Hudson commented.

"Said it was so simple, I could solve it,"

"I'm sure he was exaggerating," Mrs Hudson said with a slight frown.

"What's he doing, do you think?" Lestrade questioned.

"He says he's waiting,"

"For what?"

"The devil," Lestrade gave the landlady a look of confusion. "I wouldn't be surprised. We get all sorts here," She added.

Lestrade sighed, tipping his at in respect. "Well, wired me if there's any change," 

"Yeah," Mrs Hudson whispered in acknowledgment before closing the door to the flat. 

Noticing that curious eyes were no longer on him, Holmes lifted up a newspaper to reveal a small open case containing a syringe.

As the night fell, Holmes sat in the same place, his eyes closed. A shadow fell across him and the floor creaked. Sensing this, Holmes turned his head in the direction of the footsteps.

"Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind," A familiar voice said softly.

"And possibly my answer has crossed yours,"

"Like a bullet,"

Holmes opened his eyes and stood up from the ground. He turned around to face Professor Moriarty, who stood by the window.

"It's a dangerous habit, you know? To finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing gown. Or are you just pleased to see me?"

"You'll forgive me for taking precautions,"

"I'd be offended if you didn't," Moriarty smiled, patting his jacket pockets before taking out a small pistol of his own. "Obviously I've returned the courtesy,"

Moriarty looked down at the gun and cocked it before wandering around the room.

"I like your rooms. They smell so manly. But it seems that there is something missing, perhaps someone," Moriarty gave Holmes a sly look. "Tell me, does the illustrator travel with you? Do you have to pose during your deductions?"

"I'm aware of all six occasions you have visited these apartments during my absence," Holmes said, following Moriarty with his eye.

"I know you are. By the way, you have a surprisingly comfortable bed," Moriarty casually commented. He ran his fingers along the top of the mantle, observing the dust. "Did you know that dust is largely composed of human skin?" He lifted his index and licked the dust off. "Doesn't taste the same though,"

Holmes sighed, over Moriarty's dramatics, and gestured to Watson's chair. "Won't you sit,"

"That's all people really are, you know: dust waiting to be distributed. And it gets everywhere, in every breath, dancing in every sunbeam, all used-up people. Occasionally, there are people that are more than just vessels of dust," 

"Fascinating I sure," Holmes gestured to Watson's chair once more.

Moriarty ignored him and stared at the muzzle of his pistol. He blew into the end before peering into the barrel. "D'you mind if I fire this, just to clean it out?" He suddenly turned the gun around to point it at Holmes, who instantly aimed his gun at Moriarty. The pair stood still, pistols aimed at each other's foreheads before simultaneously lifting their weapons to point at the ceiling. Their eyes never breaking contact.

Professor Moriarty held his gun loosely by his side and smirked. "Exactly. Let's stop playing. We don't need toys to kill each other. Where's the intimacy in that?"

"Sit down," Holmes ordered with a hiss.

"Why?" Moriarty countered. "What do you want?"

"You chose to come here," Holmes pointed out, walking closer to the professor. 

"What do you want, Sherlock?"

"The truth,"

Moriarty nodded. "That," He started to walk past Holmes but turned to but his face close. "Truth's boring. You didn't expect me to turn up at the scene of the crime, did you? Poor old Sir Eustace. He got what was coming to him,"

"But you couldn't have killed him,"

Moriarty took a step back, no longer being face to face and groaned in annoyance. "You don't care about Sir Eustace, or the Bride, or any of it. There's only one thing in this whole business that you find interesting... well, two things,"

"I know what you are doing," Holmes said with a fervent whisper.

"The Bride put a gun in her mouth and shot the back of her head off and then she came back," Moriarty shrugged. "Impossible, but she did it and you need to know how," He smiled, knowing that he had gotten under Holme's skin. "It's tearing your world apart not knowing. So much so that you have forgotten something,"

"You're trying to stop me, to derail me and distract me,"

"Because doesn't this remind you of another case? Hasn't this all happened before? Only this time, you're alone," Moriarty continued to circle Holmes. He raised his gun and placed it just inside of his mouth, laying it on his tongue. "It's on the tip of my tongue,"

Holmes closed his eyes for a second. He felt as if the room was shaking, maybe it actually was. Maybe his reality had shifted more than he wanted it to. Once the room settled, Holmes opened his eyes and stared straight at the professor on his coffee table. "For the sake of Mrs Hudson's wallpaper, I must remind you that one false move with your finger and you will be dead,"

Moriarty shrugged, not caring what the detective had to say at all.m "Ed ith the noo thethy," 

"I'm sorry?"

The professor removed the gun from his mouth, his dark eyes never straying from Holmes'. "Dead is the new sexy," 

Before Holmes could even register the room shaking violently once more, Moriarty shot himself in the mouth, blood spatter covering the wall behind him, his body on the table. Holmes stared as Moriarty proceeded to stand back up, ignoring the blood on his face,"

"Well, I'll tell you what: that rather blows the cobwebs away,"

"How can you be alive?" Holmes asked, shocked at what he had just witnessed.

"How do I look?" Moriarty turned around, revealing the back of his head which had been blown out. "Huh? You can be honest. Is it noticeable?"

"If you blew your own brains out, how can you still be alive?"

Moriarty tilted his head. "Maybe I could backcomb," he mused to himself.

"I saw you die," Holmes said as his eyes narrowed. "Why aren't you dead?"

Moriarty took a step towards Sherlock. "Because it's not the fall that kills you, SHerlock," he whispered "Of all people, you should know that. It's never the fall," Holmes felt the rooms start to shake more violently as Moriarty spread his arms out wide, smiling. "It's the landing,"

The tremors continued, stronger than they had ever been, throwing Holmes into his chair.

Chapter Text

Sherlock jolted awake as the flight attendant shook his shoulder. "Sir, we've landed,"

"No, no, not now," Sherlock mumbled to himself as the captain of the plane walked up to him. He took a quick breath, realising that she resembled what he imagined Lady Carmichel as. His thoughts about the captain's resemblance quickly disappeared from his head when he felt a reassuring warmth around him. Alice. It was only now that he realised that the victorian version of himself lacked her. How he had missed it was a mystery, yet a part of him knew that something was wrong.

Once Alice release Sherlock from the hug, she knelt to get on eye level. "Don't you dare think that I forgot what your wrists look like right now. Your life is not your own. Please, now that you're back, no more. Please," she whispered. Her relief that he was back on the ground was mixed with her disappointment.

"Well, a somewhat shorter exile than we'd imagined, brother mine. Hardly adequate given your levels of OCD," Mycroft scoffed as he entered the plane after John and Mary. 

"I have to go back!" Sherlock exclaimed, still sitting in his chair. "I was nearly there! I nearly had it!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Alice asked, moving to the aisle so Mary could sit down. in the chair across from him. 

"Ricoletti and his abominable wife! Don't you understand?"

"No, of course, we don't," Mary said, holding her baby bump as she sat across from him. "You're not making any sense, Sherlock,"

"You've only just been told about Moriarty's return," Alice said, "The Ricoletti case isn't going to help you solve this one,"

"Wait, what's the Ricoletti case?" John asked.

"It was a famous case from a hundred years ago, lodged in my hard drive. She seemed to be dead but then she came back," Sherlock answered.

"What, like Moriarty?"

"And yourself," Alice mumbled to her husband.

"Shot herself in the head, exactly like Moriarty," Sherlock confirmed.

"But you've only just been told. We've only just found out,"

Sherlock unclipped his seatbelt. "So? It's been five minutes since Mycroft called," He turned his head to his brother, knowing that if he said the next words to his wife, that exile would have been the safer option. "What progress have you made? What have you been doing? You should have some theories by now, Mycroft"

John scoffed. "More to the point, what have you been doing?"

"I've been in my mind palace, of course. Running an experiment: how would I have solved the crome if I had been there in 1895?"

Both Mycroft, who was now sitting down in the seat diagonal from him, and Alice frowned. They knew he had taken something, but they were unsure how much was in his system.

"I was there, all of it, everything. I had the details all perfect, I was immersed,"

"Of course you were," Alice, disappointed, gracefully took her husband's phone from his hands and unlocked it. 

"You've been reading John's blog. Specifically the entries about how you two met and 'A Study in Pink"," Mary commented, as she glanced over at the phone before Alice walked over to stand behind Sherlock. And unlike her husband, she saw the look Alice and Mycroft exchanged with each other.

Sherlock nodded. "Helps me if I see myself through his eyes sometimes. I'm much cleverer,"

"And you really think anyone's believing you?" Mycroft asked, annoyed.

"No, I've seen it before- the Mind Palace. It's like a whole world in his head," John defended.

"Yes, and I need to get back there," Sherlock snapped.

"The Mind Palace is a memory technique. It can do some things and it most certainly can not do others," Alice said to John, her hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"And it certainly cannot do what you are describing," Mycroft added.

"Maybe there are one or two things that I know that you don't," Sherlock jabbed at his brother.

"There may be, but the same can be said about all of us," Alice responded.

"Did you make a list?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock looked over at his brother. "You've put on weight. That waistcoat is clearly newer than the-"

Mycroft banged his umbrella on the floor of the plane. "Stop this! Just answer her question. Did you make a list?"

"Of what?" John asked.

"Everything. Everything you've taken," 

"No, it's not that. He goes into a sort of trance. I've seen him do-"

Sherlock removed a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Alice behind him. Alice read down the list, her reaction full of anger, disappointment, and understanding. 

"We have an agreement, my brother and I," Mycroft explained. "Ever since that day. Wherever I find him, whatever back alley or doss house, there will always be a list,"

Alice sighed and handed John the list. "He couldn't have taken all of that in the last five minutes," John concluded.

"He was high before he got on the plane," Alice explained, slightly bitter. "Most likely taken during the brief time that both Mycroft and I were away from him this morning while he was being processed,"

"He didn't seem high," Mary said as she typed on her phone.

"Nobody deceives like an addict," Mycroft said, his words directed to his brother.

"I'm not an addict. I'm a user," Sherlock pointed out. "I alleviate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought processes,"

"For God's sake, this could kill you!" John yelled, holding up the paper in front of him. "You could die,"

"Controlled usage is not usually fatal and abstinence is not immortality,"

"What are you doing?" Mycroft asked, noticing both Mary and Alice typing rapidly on their phones.

"Emelia Ricoletti- I'm looking her up," Mary answered.

"Medical records from that time 1895 plus any records that may have archived," Alice answered right after.

"Ah, I suppose we should," Mycroft conceded. "I have access to the top level of the MI5 archive I am sure that-,"

"Yep, that's where I'm looking," Mary replied, not letting him finish.

Mycroft stood up straighter in his seat. "And what do you think of MI5's security?"

Mary turned to Mycroft and gave him a false smile. "I think it would be a good idea,"

Alice couldn't help but let out a chuckle at Mary's comeback. Sensing Mycroft's stern eyes on her share looked up from her phone and directed her attention to her brother-in-law. "Mycroft, I told you we worked together. Though I may be more advanced in cyber security, Mary is talented enough to get into MI5,"

"Emilia Ricoletti: Unsolved," Mary confirmed, placing her phone down beside her. "Like he said,"

Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation. "Could you all just shut up for five minutes? I have to go back. I was nearly there before you stepped on and started yapping away,"

John rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, are we interrupting your session?"

Mycroft leaned forward in his chair. "Sherlock, listen to me,"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother. "No. It only encourages you,"

"I'm not angry with you,"

"Oh, that's a relief. I was really worried about what you think. No, hold on. I really wasn't,"

"I was there for you before," Mycroft said in a softer tone. "And I will be there for you again. I'll always be there for you,"

"I said it before," Alice commented. "Leaving you by yourself is the same as leaving you with your worst enemy,"

Sherlock reached over his shoulder and held her hand. "I'm sorry, dearest,"

"This is my fault," Mycroft commented to himself.

"Oh, for God's sake," Sherlock retorted. 

Sherlock closed his eyes once more.

"Morphine or cocaine?" Watson asked.

Sherlock opened his eyes and turned to John. "What did you say?"

John glanced at him, confused. "I didn't say anything,"

"No, you did. You said 'Which is it today? Morphine or cocaine?'"

Alice, immediately sensing that something was wrong, caught her husband as he slumped forward.

Holmes laid on his side on the floor of 221B, his fingers twitching as he started to wake. His head rested on a cushion with the syringe and case close by. 

"Answer me, damn it!" Watson demanded as the door shut with an immense slam. 

Holmes jolted awake. "Moriarty was here,"

"Moriarty's dead," Watson pointed out as he took off his gloves. 

Holmes waved his hand vaguely and rolled onto his back. "I was on a jet,"

"A what?"

Holmes lifted his head and propped himself onto his elbow, moving to sit in his armchair. "You were there, and my brother," And her. She was there too. 

Watson walked further into the room with a stern look on his face. "You haven't left these rooms. You haven't moved. Now, tell me. Morphine or cocaine?" 

"Cocaine," Holmes finally answered with a sigh. "A seven percent solution," He lifted the case off the floor and offered it to Watson. "Would you care to try it?"

"No," Watson firmly answered. "No, but I would quite like to find every ounce of the stuff in your possession and pour it out of the window,"

Holmes smirked, closing the syringe case. "I should be inclined to stop you,"

"Then you should be reminded, quite forcibly, which one of us is a soldier and which one of us a drug addict," Watson stated flatly.

"You're not a soldier," Holmes counted. "You're a doctor,

"I'm an army doctor," Watson rebutted. "Which means I could break every bone in tour body while naming them,"

Holmes raised a brow. "My dear Watson, you are allowing emotion to cloud your judgement,"

"Never on a case," Watson hissed. "You promised me. Never on a case,"

"No," Holmes corrected. "I just said that in one of your stories,"

Watson lifted a finger. "Listen, I'm happy to play the fool for you. I will run along behind you like some halfwit to help make you look clever if that is what you need. But dear God above, you will hold yourself to a higher standard!"

"Why?"

"Because Alice needs you to. If not for me, then for her!" John yelled.

Holmes blinked to find Watson in front of him, still cross. "Say that again,"

"Because people need you too. There are people who care about you," Watson said sternly.

"Mr Holmes!" Billy called as he ran into the flat. "Mr Holmes! Telegram, Mr Holmes!"

Holmes grabbed the telegram and froze as he read its contents. Sensing the shift in the mood, Watson met Holmes' gaze. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Mary," Holmes explained as he shrugged off his dressing gown and hung it up.

"Mary? What about her?"

"It's entirely possible she's in danger," Holmes said as he grabbed his outer coat from the peg, slightly stumbling in the process. "There's not a moment to lose.

"Is this the cocaine talking?" Watson asked after taking a deep breath. "What danger could she be in? I'm sure she's just visiting with friends,"

"Come on!"

Watson continued to follow his friend down the stairs. "Are you even in a fit state?"

"For Mary? Of course. Never doubt that Watson," Holmes breathed more heavily, regretting taking the cocaine. He reached for his top hat.

"Not that one," Watson said as he snatched the top hat from Holmes' hand and tossed it behind him. Watson instead handed Holmes the deerstalker. "This one," 

"Why?"

"You're Sherlock Holmes, wear the damn hat," 

Holmes glared at his friend for a quick second before the two exited the building and called a cab.

Chapter Text

The cab raced through the countryside, dusk already upon them. "So, tell me. Where is she?" Watson asked firmly. 

Holmes sighed and buried his head in one hand. Still recovering from earlier. 

"You must tell me," Watson continued. "What is going on?"

"Oh, good old Watson! How would we fill the time if you didn't ask questions?" Holmes snapped, lifting his head back up.

"Sherlock," John demanded, "tell me where my bloody wife is, you pompous prick," 

Startled, Holmes blinked. Once more, Watson sat beside him. "Holmes! Where is she?"

"A desanctified church. She thinks she's found the solution, and for no better reason than that, she's put herself in the path of considerable danger," He turned to look out the window. "Good choice of wife," He mused to himself. Excellent, in fact.

By the time they arrived at the church, the moon was high in the sky. The pair headed inside, running down through the cloisters when Mary came out from behind a pillar. 

"What the devil?!" Watson exclaimed.

"Shh," Mrs Watson whispered before pointing down the hallway. "I found them,"

As they continued into the vaults of the church, chanting could be heard. 

"What is all this, Mary?" Watson asked his wife.

Mrs Watson gave her husband a small smile. "This is the heart of it all, John, The heart of the conspiracy,"

The three of them reached a pair of stone windows, allowing them to watch as a line of figures proceeded past them in the corridor across the gap. The figures wore hoods and their bodies covered, making it impossible to distinguish one from the other.

"Great God," Watson whispered. "What is this place?" He turned to his wife. "And what the devil are you doing here?"

"I've been making inquiries. Mr Holmes asked me,"

"Holmes!'" Watson exclaimed in a loud whisper. "How could you?"

"No, not him," Mrs Watson gestured with her head. "The clever one,"

Holmes merely shrugged in acknowledgement. 

"It seemed obvious to me that this business could not be managed alone," Mrs Watson continued to explain. "My theory is that Mrs Ricolleti had help- help from her friends,"

"Bravo, Mary," Holmes said before realising what she had said earlier. "'The clever one'?"

"I thought I was losing you," Watson stated, still watching the procession. "I thought perhaps we were neglecting each other,"

"Well, you are the one who moved out," Holmes pointed out.

Watson closed his eyes and sighed. "I was talking to Mary," He then turned to his wife. "You're working for Mycroft?"

"He likes to keep an eye on his mad sibling," Mrs Watson explained. 

"And he had a spy to hand. Watson, has it never occurred to you that your wife is excessively skilled for a nurse?"

"Of course he hasn't. Because he knows what a nurse is capable of," Mrs Watson smirked. "When did it occur to you?"

"Only now, I'm afraid," Holmes admitted, looking down at the stone floor. 

Mrs Watson turned to the detective. "Must be difficult: being the slow little brother,"

"Time I sped up. Enough Chatter. Let's concentrate,"

"Right. What's this all about? What do they want to accomplish?"

"Why don't we go and find out?"

The three ran through the vaults, eventually reaching the small chapel where the robed figures had gathered; still chanting. Holmes entered through the doorway behind them and noticed a suspended gong to the side. As one who could never stray from a dramatic climax, he picked up the mallet and struck the gong loudly, causing the group to stop their chanting and face him. 

"Sorry," Holmes said as he hung up the mallet. "I could never resist a gong or a touch of the dramatic,"

"Never could have guessed," Mrs Watson mumbled under her breath to her husband who stood by her in the doorway. 

Holmes walked forward, stopping in the middle of the chapel. "Though it seems you share my enthusiasm in that regard. Superlative theatre. I applaud the spectacle," He smiled briefly before turning back around and walking slowly back to the Watsons in the doorway, still observing the figures that surrounded him as he solved the case.

"Emelia Ricoletti shot herself, then apparently returned from the grave and killed her husband. So, how was it done? Let's take the events in order: Mrs Ricoletti gets everyone's attention in a very efficient fashion. She places one of the revolvers in her mouth while actually firing the other into the ground while an accomplice sprays the curtains with blood. Thus, her apparent suicide is witnessed by the frightened crowd below. A substitute corpse bearing a strong resemblance to Mrs Ricoletti takes her place and is later transported to the morgue. A grubby little suicide of little interest to Scotland Yard. Meanwhile, the real Mrs Ricoletti slips away.

"Now comes the really clever part. Mrs Ricoletti persuaded a cab driver- someone, who knew her- to intercept her husband outside his favourite opium den. The perfect stage for a drama. He gave the perfect positive identification. The late Mrs Ricoletti has returned from the grave and, with a little skilled make-up, you have nothing less than the wrath of a vengeful ghost. The was only one thing left to do. All that remained was to substitute the real Mrs Ricoletti for the corpse in the morgue. This time, should anyone attempt to identify her it would be positively and absolutely her,"

Mrs Watson frowned. "But why would she do that? Die to prove a point?"

"Every great cause has martyrs. every war has suicide missions- and make no mistake, this is war," Holmes walked back into the crypt, looking at the robed figures on either side of him. "One half of the human race at war with the other. The invisible army hovering at our elbow, attending to our homes, raising our children, ignored, patronised, disregarded, not allowed so much as a vote,"

Almost as one, all of the figures removed their hoods. There was great diversity in the group, ranging from skin tone and hair colour to age. The one constant: they were all women. 

Watson's mouth opened in slight shock while his wife's formed a small smile.

"But an army nonetheless," Holmes continued. "One that is ready to rise up in the best of causes, to put right an injustice as old as humanity itself. So, you see, Watson, Mycroft was right. This is a war we must lose,"

"She was dying," Watson commented.

"Who was?" 

"Emelia Ricoletti," Watson exclaimed further. "There were clear signs of consumption. I doubt she was long for this world,"

"So she decided to make her death count. She was already familiar with the secret societies of America and was able to draw on their methods of fear and intimidation to publicly- very publicly- confront Sr Eustace Carmichael with the sins of his past,"

"He knew her out in the states," A familiar voice said. From the crowd, Hooper revealed herself to the men and Mary. "He promised her everything: marriage, proposition. And then he had his way with her and threw her over, left her abandoned and penniless," 

"Hooper," Holmes whispered in the realisation that the man he had known for years as a morgue worker was in fact a woman. Yet there was a part of him that was certain that she was always a woman. One that wasn't afraid to tell me what he needed to hear.

"Holmes," Hooper whispered in the same tone.

"For the record Holmes, she didn't have me fooled," Watson interjected, feeling satisfied that he noticed something that the great detective hadn't. His satisfaction was short-lived when he noticed his maid, Jane, step out and give him a small wave.

"Emelia thought she'd found happiness with Ricoletti, but he was a brute too," Another woman spoke up. Her Irish accent felt familiar to Holmes, though there was a bitterness in it that he could not assess. In his head, he could recall his other self kissing her in the past. "Emelia Ricoletti was our friend. You have no idea how that bastard treated her,"

"But, the bride," Watson protested. "Holmes, we saw her,"

"Yes, Watson, we did." Holmes acknowledged. "But the sound of breaking glass? Not a window, but an old theatrical trick,"

"Pepper's Ghost to be precise," A young woman said, her American accent felt foreign yet familiar. Like a lighthouse that called his ship home. Holmes turned his attention away from Watson to the woman before him. It was her. The one he had always looked for as he watched the streets of London out of the cab or from the window. 

"Alice," Holmes whispered to himself.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes," 

His mind was flooded with images of his other life and of his other-self. His memories of her not only risking her life for him but him for her. He shook his head, citing the cocaine from earlier as the cause of his familiarity with the woman before him. "A simple reflection, in glass, of a living breathing person. Your only mistake was breaking the glass when you removed it,"

"It still worked. You saw what we wanted you to see. Look around you, Mr Holmes, you are surrounded by Brides,"

"Yourself included? A Bride?"

"Only in this context or until the laws change. I will only marry someone who addresses me as their equal and not as the lesser sex. You men are out here running the country, it is what is expected of you. Women are expected to simply live at home, bear children, and be pretty little things that hang on your shoulder. It is considered to be your God-given right yet there is a woman on the throne of England who was chosen by God. Tell me, Mr Holmes, where is the logic in that?"

"But women are permitted to work," Watson observed.

"You are correct, Doctor Watson. But let me remind you that many of these jobs still reside in the domestic field. Not only that but marriage and children is what society deems as the leading trait of respectable women. It has been called our 'crowning glory' and as soon as we marry our husbands, every asset we own is transferred to them. And should we decide to divorce our husbands, the court is rarely ever in our favour. Despite the new laws that allow divorced women the same rights as single women, the middle and upper classes still look down on them. It is a game of survival, Mr Holmes. I'm sure you can understand what that feels like," 

Holmes took a step back and began to pace. "The avenging ghost- a legend to strike terror in the heart of any man with malicious intent, a spectre to stalk those unpunished brutes whose reckoning is long overdue,"

"And there are many. Each with league of furies awakened. Once the Bride has arisen, anyone could be her,"

"The women I- we have lied to and betrayed; the women we have ignored and disparaged. Once an idea exists-"

"It can not be killed," Alice finished for him.

"This work, it is the work of a single-minded person. Someone who knew first hand about Sir Eustace's mental cruelty. A dark secret kept from all but her closest friends," Holmes deduced, hearing the veiled figure walking towards him from behind. "Including Emelia Ricoletti. The woman her husband wronged all those years before. If one disregards the ghost, there is only one suspect.,"

Holmes turned around to face the figure, who stood before him. "Isn't that right, Lady Carmichael? One small detail doesn't quite make sense to me, however. Why engage me to prevent a murder you intended to commit?"

The bride let out a laugh, one that did not match Lady Carmichael. Holmes, however, did recognise the voice. "It's not real,"

"Oh, Sherlock," Moriarty lifted his veil, revealing the dried blood in the middle of both his lips from where he shot himself in 2012. "I mean, come on, be serious. Costumes, the gong. Speaking as a criminal mastermind, we really don't have gongs or special outfits. Though," Moriarty looked over Holmes' shoulder and gave Alice a small curtsy, "I must commend you for your motive,"

Alice's face hardened.

"C'mon, haven't you missed me?"

"What the hell is going on?" Watson yelled, sounding similar to his other-self.

"Is this silly enough for you yet?" Moriarty taunted. "Gothic enough? Mad enough? It doesn't make sense, Sherlock, because it's not real. None of it is,"

Holmes struggled to stay focused but felt that he was stuck in a tunnel with a bright light at the end. He couldn't feel anyone's presence except for the madman before him. His eyes started to close. Leaving Holmes to only hear voices in his head, unable to decipher which were in his mind palace and which were real.

"This is all in your mind,"

"Sherlock!"

"Holmes?"

"Wake up,"

Chapter Text

The bright penlight light was the first thing Sherlock saw. John stood over him, shining the light into his eyes. The next thing he sensed was the comforting warmth that had been missing from his Mind Palace. Alice. He blinked himself awake, registering the figures in the room as Mary, who sat in one of the hospital chairs above him, Mycroft who sat in the other chair next to him, John who was checking on him, and Alice, who was on the bed with him, holding his hand.

"And there he is," Mycroft commented with a fake smile. "Thought we'd lost you for a moment. May I just check: this is what you mean by 'controlled usage'?"

"Now is not the time, Mycroft," Alice scolded. "You can scold him once he is cleared by the doctors and the committee,"

"Mrs Emelia Ricoletti," Sherlock said, still bleary. "I need to know where she was buried,"

"You're still going on about the Ricoletti case?" John asked.

"From what? A hundred and twenty years ago?" Mycroft questioned.

"Yes," 

"That could take weeks to find if those records even exist. Even with my resources we-"

"Got it," Mary interrupted, forcing Mycroft to shut his mouth again. 

**

Alice exited the police car with Sherlock. He had called on Lestrade to help him with the mystery of Emelia Ricoletti. Now the six of them were on their way to where she was buried. 

"I don't get it," John said as he held the car door for Mary. "How is this relevant?"

"I need to know I was right," Sherlock replied as he grabbed a set of spades from the boot of the car. "I need to be sure,"

"You mean how Moriarty did it?" Mary asked.

"But none of that really happened. It was all in your head," John corrected.

"My investigation was the fantasy," Sherlock corrected.

"The crime happened exactly as he explained," Alice added, holding a large file folder stuffed with documents. "I had Anthea deliver this when we sent a car for Greg," 

The group walked up to the gravestone where Emelia Ricoletti was supposedly buried. 

"I don't know what you think you will find," Mycroft commented.

"I need to try!" Sherlock argued.

EMELIA RICOLETTI

BELOVED SISTER

FAITHFUL BEYOND DEATH

DIED DECEMBER 18 1894

AGED 26

"Going off of Sherlock's theory, Mrs Ricoletti most likely had been buried by her friends considering that her husband died the day after," Alice commented, handing Mary a file for her took look at.

"Emelia Ricoletii was buried here, but what happened to the other one, the corpse they substituted for her after her so-called suicide?" Sherlock asked rapidly.

"Well, what did you do with your supposed dead body?" John mumbled before giving Sherlock his answer. "They'd move it. Of course, they would,"

"But where?"

"Well, not here!"

"That's exactly what they must have done. The conspirators had someone on the inside. They found a body, just like Molly Hooper found a body for me when I-" Sherlock immediately stopped talking when he saw the faces Alice and John were giving him. "Yeah, well, we don't need to go into all that again, do we?"

"I still found out from Anderson," Alice commented crossing her arms and turning towards Mycroft. "Not even from you,"

Sherlock adjusted his grip on the spade, ready to start digging.

"You're not seriously gonna do this?" John asked.

"That's why we came here!" Sherlock yelled as he bent forward towards the grave. "I need to know,"

"Spoken like an addict," John muttered.

Sherlock straightened up. "This is important to me!"

"No this is you needing a fix," John argued. "Moriarty's back. We have a case! We have a real-life problem right now,"

"I was getting to that! It's next on the list! Just let me do this,"

"No, everyone always lets you do whatever you want," John countered in a grave tone. "That's how you got in this state. I'm not playing this game, Sherlock, not anymore,"

Alice stepped closer to the grave and put her spare hand on John's shoulder. "John," 

John looked at his other best friend and understood the look in her eyes. He nodded and stepped back. "You'll call when he's ready to work?'

"Of course,"

John nodded and took hold of Mary's arm. "I'm taking Mary home,"

"You're what?" Mary and Alice asked immediately.

"Mary's taking me home," John corrected.

"Better," Mary stated while Alice give him a thumbs up. 

As soon as the Watsons left, Mycroft stepped up to stand beside Alice at the grave. 

"He's right, you know," Mycroft commented.

"So what if he's right? He's always right. It's boring," Sherlock snapped. He glared at his brother when the warmth of his wife's hand on his arm shifted his attention.

"It's because we care about you. It's because we want you to take care of yourself. We all show our love differently, some better than others,"

Sherlock looked down at the ground and then back up at his brother. "Wil you help me?"

"Cherchez la femme,"

Alice looked at Sherlock with a sincere smile. "Always,"

Sherlock nodded and plunged his spade into the dirt.

The men had been digging for hours. Portable lights illuminated the gravesite where Lestrade and Sherlock had been digging. Mycroft stood at the top of the grave holding a flashlight while Alice stood next to him in Sherlock's coat on top of her own.

Suddenly there was a thunk as Sherlock's spade hit something solid. Lestrade jumped into action and helped Sherlock remove the bits of dirt off the coffin. Sherlock's eye lit up in confidence.

Lestrade groaned in pain as he and Sherlock lowered the coffin onto the ground. The two slowly opened the lid to reveal the skeletal corpse that rested inside. The corpse was dressed in an elegant bridal gown.

Alice nearly wanted to throw up at the smell coming from the hole in the ground. Sherlock began to rummage around and under the body searching for the second body, clearly not finding one.

"They must have buried it underneath," Sherlock exclaimed, jumping into the grave and tossing fistfuls of dirt over his shoulder. Lestrade, Mycroft, and Alice, who still felt a little sick, look at each other.

"Maybe they got rid of the body in another way," Lestrade suggested.

"More than likely," Mycroft commented. "At any rate, it was a very long time ago. We do have slightly more pressing matters. Moriarty, back from the dead?"

Before Sherlock could respond, a ghostly voice began to sing.

"Do not forget me,"

As the voice grew louder, the corpse's right hand began to lift and straighten out. 

Sherlock's eyes widened as the skeleton came flying at him. 

Holmes found himself near the cliff of a large waterfall. Propping himself up, he took in his surrounding. From above, water from the falls fell onto him. Below, the waterfall met the Rychenbach before flowing into the Aare river. A few yards away stood Professor Moriarty. 

"Oh, I see," Holmes commented as he stumbled to his feet. "Still not awake, am I?"

"You're in deep, Sherlock. Way too deep," Professor Moriarty said. "I should congratulate you. You'll be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace,"

Holmes gestured to the environment around the two. "The setting is a bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

"For you and me? Not at all,"

"What are you?"

"You know what I am. I am James Moriarty. I am 'The Napoleon of crime',"

"Moriarty is dead," Holmes said firmly a slight smile formed on his lips.

Moriarty smiled. "Not in your mind. I will never be dead. You once called your brain a hard drive," he walked towards Sherlock. "Well, say hello to the virus. This is how we end, you and I. Always here, Always together,"

"You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty. I admire it," Holmes complemented. " concede it may even be equal to my own,"

"I am touched and honoured," 

"But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice, you are going in the water, short-arse,"

Moriarty scowled and lunged for Holmes' throat, causing the deerstalker to fall off. In a moment of surprise, he then grabbed Holmes by the ears and shoved him against the rock wall. Holmes returned the favour by punching the professor in the face. "Oh, you think you're so big and strong, Sherlock! Not with me! I am your weakness!" He continued to fight Holmes. Punching and kicking until the detective was lying down on the ground once more, his head almost over the edge of the small cliff.

"I keep you down! Every time you stumble, every time you fail, when you are weak and feel as if you cannot protect her; I am there!" Moriarty pressed his index finger into Holmes' chest. "no, don't try to fight. Lie back and lose!"

Holmes struggled but managed to stand back up. Both men stood dangerously close to the edge. Moriarty shoved Holmes towards the edge and forced Holmes to look down at the bottom. "Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesn't it? In the end, it's always you AND ME!

Before Holmes could utter a word, the sound of a gunshot road into the air.

"Professor, if you wouldn't mind stepping away from my friend. I do believe he finds your attention a shade annoying,"

Both men looked up to see Watson and another figure near the cave that led to the cliff. But to both men's surprise, it was not Watson, who had fired the revolver, but the woman from the church. Though unlike when they first met her, she was not in a ceremonial robe, nor a traditional dress. But instead pants and a men's top, as if she planned to go riding after.

"Alice?" Holmes asked in surprise.

Alice gave him a meek smile as she aimed the gun at Moriarty, who begrudgingly let go of his enemy.

"That's not fair, there's two of you," Moriarty whined, looking at Alice and Watson. "And now you brought another?"

"Don't you read The Strand? There's always two of us," Waston responded as he picked up the deerstalker and tossed it to Holmes. "Occasionally do we pick up strays,"

"Is that what I am, Dr. Watson?" Alice asked as she gestured to Moriarty with her revolver. "On your knees, Professor,"

Moriarty looked bewildered but conceded and dropped to his knelt, facing the drop below. 

"Hands behind your head,"

Moriarty did as he was instructed. He knew when he was beaten and he could recognise the talent and intelligence in the woman who held the gun. 

"Thank you, John, Alice," Holmes said. 

"Since when do you call me John?" Watson asked, slightly amused at the intimacy and friendship that the use of a first name traditionally meant. 

Holmes gave the pair a smile. "You'd be surprised,"

"No, I wouldn't," He smiled and looked down at Moriarty, who still had a gun aimed at him. "Time you woke up, Sherlock. I'm a storyteller, I know when I am in one,"

"Of course you do, John," Holmes smiled again.

"So what's he like? The other me?"

"Smarter than he looks,"

"Smarter than you give him credit for," Alice added, earning a look from all three men. "Granted, I suppose my 'other me' is just as brilliant as I am here,"

Sherlock gave her a content look. "Enough to intrigue my brother,"

"Ugh" Moritary groaned, still on his knees. "Why don't you two just elope?"

"Not until I am on equal footing as the other gentlemen here in the eyes of the law," Alice countered. "Now, getting these two to elope would be quite the scandal, imagine how many bets would be won?" 

"Would you mind?" Watson asked, looking down at his feet and then at Moriarty.

"Not at all," Holmes said as Alice stepped back to allow Watson to do the honours.

Watson stepped behind Moriarty and firmly kicked him in the back, sending the professor down into the abyss. 

"It was my turn," Watson shrugged. "So, how do you plan to wake up?"

Holmes looked around before stepping onto the rim of the cliff. "Oh, I should think like this,"

"Are you sure?"

Holmes smirked and looked at his friend. "I always survive a fall,"

"And we'll be there when you wake up, Sherlock," Alice said as she held Watson's hand.

Holmes nodded in approval and tossed his deerstalker aside and spread out his arms, falling into the void below.

Sherlock jerked awake as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Miss me?" he asked, looking up at his best friend. He looked around and saw the worried and disappointed faces that surrounded him; Mary and Alice stood across from him, his brother behind them, and John behind him.

"You all right?" John asked.

"Yes, of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be,"

"Well considering you probably just OD'd, you should be in hospital," Mary suggested.

"No time," Sherlock protested, trying to regain his balance as he stepped into the aisle of the plane. "I have to go to Baker Street now. Moriarty's back,"

"I almost hope he is, if it'll save you from this," Mycroft said, stopping his brother in the aisle.

"No need for that now," Sherlock said as he ripped up the piece of paper and let the bit fall to the floor. "Got the real thing. I have work to do,"

"Sherlock, promise me?"

Sherlock looked around the cabin before turning his attention back to Mycroft. "What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be off getting me a pardon, like a proper big brother?" 

Sherlock gently pushed Mycroft out of the way as he led Alice out of the plane.

"Dr. Watson?" Mycroft asked, getting John's attention as he and Mary began to exit.  "Look after him, please? As much as I hope for Alice to keep my brother out of trouble, I know that he care about your opinion too,"

John nodded and turned to leave the plane. Taking out a little book from his breast pocket, Mycroft turned to the next page and placed the ripped up page inside.

"Sherlock, Hang on," John said as he and Mary met up with the other couple on the tarmac. "Explain. Moriarty's alive, then?"

"I never said he was alive. I said he was back. He blew his brains out. No one survives that. I went to the trouble of an overdose to prove it," Sherlock said as he entered the car.

"Which we will have a conversation about later," Alice pointed out.

"Moriarty's dead, no question. But more importantly, I know exactly what he's going to do next,"