John opened the door to 221B baker street, and sighed. This was going to be difficult. He'd helped sort out a dead man's possessions during the war, but he'd hoped he'd never have to do it again. Also he'd never lived with those men. He'd never helped them during detective work, never knew them outside the war. He realized he'd been standing in the doorway for a few minutes now, unwilling to take the step over the threshold.
"Maybe it's too soon, really dear I wouldn't mind if you waited the month." Ms Hudson said. John could hear the plea in her voice, quietly begging him to wait. It was strange, silly really. Even though John had seen Sherlock's tomb, seen him buried and stood over his grave, he still couldn't believe he was gone. Maybe Ms. Hudson couldn't either, and sorting through Sherlock's stuff would feel painful and wrong to her. John shook his head, Sherlock was the detective, not him. Consulting Detective, Sherlock's reprimanding voice rang though his head, correcting him. John closed his eyes, just listening to the imagined sound before turning back to Ms Hudson.
"It's okay. I'll clean." He smiled bitterly at her. She frowned, clearly upset but he could see she was grateful.
"I'll make some tea dear." She rushed back into her own flat, leaving John on the threshold.
The first step into the flat and memories began bombarding him. John remembered Sherlock laughing against that wall on the first night John had been pulled out to help. The Study in Pink he'd called it on the blog. That damn blog. Sherlock never did like the blog, and he was right. It killed him.
I killed him John thought for, well, not the first time and he took the second step into the flat. "The police don't consult amateurs." John remembered his words and smiled bitterly. How right he was. Each step, each bloody step held a memory of Sherlock, and John realized quickly that the memories of them laughing felt a lot better than the arguments.
"Like an old couple." Ms Hudson's voice echoed through his head as he made his way up the stairs. Bloody hell, even the smell of the place was the same. John pushed open the door to the sitting room and felt himself freeze, every nerve tensed and ready for battle and John grabbed his side, searching for his gun. Moriarty sat in Sherlock's chair, staring at his phone. John looked around quickly to see if Moriarty had his thugs around him, but it didn't mean they weren't there just because he couldn't see them. Moriarty looked up but the moment he saw it was John he sighed and went back to his texts. He killed him, the monster killed Sherlock and he's now sitting in his chair. John thought as his fury began to escalate. Moriarty seemed to sense his anger and glanced up, only the position of his eyes moving as though John wasn't worth the time it would take to move his neck and address him. Moriarty relaxed back into Sherlock's chair with a disappointed sigh.
"Oh, check your texts." Moriarty rolled his eyes, a slight smile dancing on his lips as though he was speaking to a child who just proclaimed the sky green. Moriarty turned back to his phone as a beep echoed from Johns pocket. He pulled out the device, keeping one eye on Moriarty as he checked his messages. One New Message popped out of the screen. John looked at the number, finding it blocked. John glanced up suspiciously at Moriarty, but clicked open the text anyway, knowing he wouldn't look at John till he'd read the message. John took one look at the message and froze.
Come at once
Im not dead, no your not crazy.
SH
John felt suddenly detached. He was the cynical bystander who looked back towards Moriarty, certain it was a cruel joke. He was the shut off soldier who watched the world from an eye that looked for danger, and ran either straight towards it (danger) or far away (from people). How would Moriarty have known if Sherlock was going to text then unless he was the one who texted John in the first place? Another memory flew through Johns head.
"Ms. Hudson, Dr. Watson will take the room upstairs."
"Says who?"
"Says the man at the door." /knock knock knock/
John looked back at the number and scowled,since when did Sherlock block his number? Since he died? He thought and almost pushed the thought out of his mind before realizing, that it's exactly what happened. Sherlock must be trying to stay out of the light of the press, and if his number was popping up on people's phones, his secret wouldn't remain hidden. Then why would he have texted me? John shook his head, he wanted Sherlock to be alive so much he was probably creating connections that weren't there. But he could hope. He turned his phone and typed:
Hey Sherlock,
Im with Moriarty
John.
Moriarty's phone remained silent, but that didn't mean much. John created a new message and glanced at Moriarty, only a single wrinkle of a frown showing his nervousness. He turned back to the text and addressed it to Lestrade and began to type a text to warn him about Moriarty.
"I wouldn't do that." Moriarty growled, a smile on his face. John froze and looked up, but Moriarty wasn't looking at him, so John discarded the message and waited for Sherlock. A few moments later John's phone buzzed again and another message appeared from "Number blocked."
Moriarty's dead.
SH.
John glanced back at Moriarty, a slight smile dancing in his eyes and he replied,
So are you.
John
John pocketed the phone to stare at Moriarty. "I'm assuming you want to talk to Sherlock, not me." John commented calmly, trying to contain a very strange mix of wanting to jump up and down screaming with happiness, and wanting to curl up in a corner in fear of Moriarty. Not that it would help him when it came to Moriarty and his goons.
Moriarty gave him a glance that could literally be described as the best 'well duh' expression John had ever seen.
John's phone buzzed again and he opened the text, finding one word from Sherlock. What took him so long? John wondered as he read the text.
Alone?
SH.
John looked around him, not finding anything obvious like a laser pointed at his chest. John shook his head and looked over the flat, even though he knew finding nothing meant nothing as he wondered what to say. Finally he decided on,
Looks like it.
John.
He sent the text and looked over Moriarty, not surprised to find no weapon, he wasn't the type who got his hands dirty. No, he had other people to pull the trigger. John looked over the apartment from where he was standing. It didn't appear anyone had searched the flat, but he wasn't an expert, and Moriarty probably had hands who knew exactly how to clean up...
John looked back at the phone when it buzzed, finding another message.
Are you alright?
SH
John glanced up at Moriarty who still sat in Sherlock's chair.
I'm fine.
John.
After about a minute of staring at the screen of his phone, John realized that Sherlock wasn't going to text back and he put the phone away.
"I can't leave the flat without a bullet in my head right?" John asked, even though he was certain of the answer.
"Obviously," Moriarty said, not taking his eyes from whatever he was looking at. John, curious, went over to the bookshelf behind him and grabbed a book, pretending to be looking at it before he peaked at Moriarty's phone. He was playing Tetris. He was playing bloody Tetris! John noticed he was on such a high level it made it look like he was texting because the blocks were moving so quickly. It would also explain why he wasn't looking up. Tetris? I would have figured he'd prefer something more, dangerous for his character. Then again, maybe he doesn't like the blood getting on his virtual clothing. John walked to his chair, still holding the book and he plopped down, deciding reading was the best way to appear nonchalant while he waited for Sherlock.
John opened the book but looked around the room rather than reading, placing the book in front of his face so Moriarty couldn't see as he waited for Sherlock. He heard Moriarty sigh and he looked up at where Moriarty's head would be, finding the text of the book upside-down.
"It might help if the book was the right way up." Moriarty sighed.
"Maybe I like reading upside-down." He muttered as he flipped the book around and placed it on his lap.
"Maybe you have trust issues." Moriarty paused his game to glance pointedly up at him. John felt his throat tighten slightly but he shrugged it off.
"You, you did try to kill me." John pointed out.
"Don't take it personally." Moriarty shrugged, glancing towards the door and a smile grew in his eyes and onto his lips. It wasn't a nice smile, it was a smile a wolf would give to a trapped rabbit. John looked at the door and froze. There he was, standing in the doorway, his eyes moving around the room as he connected things John couldn't even see. John wanted to stand up and hug him, or punch him, or maybe both. But he stayed in his chair, unsure what to do or even say. Before he could even open his mouth, Sherlock was walking into the kitchen and pouring out the water in the kettle. He refilled it, flicked on the kettle and pulled three cups out of the cupboard. John could only watch the dead man as he made them all tea, his mind still overwhelmed with the thought that he was alive and well. Finally his mouth appeared to be working again and he asked only one question.
"How?" Moriarty glanced sharply at John, as though he was reprimanding him for just speaking now Sherlock was in the room.
"Simple John," Sherlock turned around and John tried to pretend the voice didn't send a chill up his spine. Damn it's good to see him again. John thought. "Keep your eyes fixed on me?" He quoted himself, walking over with tea and placing it on the table with milk, somehow managing not to spill anything. "Remember the truck that drove away after I landed?" He asked.
"I mainly remember your head being smashed on the pavement." John frowned.
"You need to train your pets better." Moriarty smiled, taking the tea, his eyes flicking from Sherlock to John, waiting for a response. He grinned when he saw John tense in annoyance, which only angered him more.
"I'm not his pet." John snarled.
"The truck," Sherlock snapped, shooting a warning glance at John. "I jumped into the back of the truck and it drove away." he explained.
"But you were lying on the sidewalk with you head smashed in." John argued.
"Double." Sherlock looked at John. "Obviously" he looked as though John not understanding the dead man was a double was like someone not knowing what one plus one was. Sherlock pulled out a chair, turning his attention to Moriarty as he sat.
"Obviously right. Sorry, should I have thought, oh, its a double, he's not dead, it's just a double." John muttered, slightly annoyed. He looked up at Sherlock and Moriarty when he realized they weren't listening. John sighed, relaxing back into his chair, deciding he might as well enjoy his tea. After a moment Sherlock leaned back smiling.
"Did you enjoy your trip?" Sherlock asked and Moriarty smiled.
"Oh yes, it was quite, entertaining." Moriarty grinned, his tongue pressing on the back of his teeth and his gaze flicking to John. He repressed a shutter, but Moriarty winked at him, making it clear he'd noticed John's reaction.
"I should say, it appears you went there, twice, no... Three times..." Sherlock paused before nodding. "Three times."
"Oh, good, very good Sherlock." Moriarty's smile grew to a creepy extreme.
"I'd say it was very profitable as well." Sherlock said, looking him over.
"Good." Moriarty nodded once, his smile shrinking as he just listened to Sherlock. Sherlock placed his hands together, letting his finger tips rest over his lips. "Can't find anything else?" Moriarty asked teasing. Sherlock said nothing, just looked Moriarty over again, searching for more.
"Sorry to interrupt, whatever this is, but what exactly are you doing here?" John asked Moriarty.
"The signals better here." Moriarty grinned and his phone began ringing. "See what I mean." He pressed talk, "I'll see you later, Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty put his phone to his ear and walked from the room. John and Sherlock listened as he began his conversation in their hallway and as he went down the stairs.
"Well?" Moriarty's voice echoed through the hall and the door opened. Sherlock and John stayed silent till they heard the clicks of the door shutting. John stood, but Sherlock held up a hand, warning him to wait. A moment later there was a sound of a engine turning on and Sherlock walked to the window, moving the curtain slightly and watched the car drive away. Sherlock stayed there for a moment, looking at the street where the car was. John felt his heart tighten as he watched Sherlock droop. He only comes for Moriarty. A voice whispered inside him and he frowned. He'll never come for you. John felt his frown deepen. Why was he reacting like this. He should be having to deal with the stress of having Moriarty in his bloody living room and he was thinking about Sherlock. Well, it is the first time he'd seen him since he faked his death, so thinking of Sherlock wasn't strange. It wasn't. Right?
"Where were you staying?" John asked, pushing his thoughts from his mind.
"Hu? Oh, I was with Mollie." Sherlock let the curtain swing back into place.
"Mollie? As-as in Mollie Hooper?" John spluttered, nearly spilling his tea.
"Yes, Mollie, weren't you listening?" Sherlock turned around.
"But, why her?" John said.
"Oh think about it John." Sherlock sighed and sat down, picking up his tea. John frowned for a moment, trying to work it out and Sherlock sighed again.
"Who do we know who knows the human body better than you do and could copy it better? Who would know I used the double?" He prompted.
"Mollie. Wait, Mollie... She created the double?" John wondered.
"Yes. I stayed with her for as long as I could manage, but I was bored John." Sherlock shrugged and sipped his tea.
"Bor-bored?" John stammered, anger sparking in his chest. Sherlock frowned, his eyes flicking over him trying to find why he was acting this way as though John was being an idiot for being angry.
"Yes, I was lost without my blogger." Sherlock smiled and John found his anger disappearing.
"Oh!" John sighed, unable to swear at him. There was a gasp and a crash of plates from the door and Sherlock and John turned to find Ms. Hudson in a mess of broken plates and tea.
"Sherlock!" Ms. Hudson cried.
"Ah Ms. Hudson!" Sherlock smiled as John leapt from his seat and helped Ms. Hudson to his chair, away from the mess as Sherlock stood and walked to the cupboard.
"Are you okay?"John asked, checking for shards in her fingers and on her shoes.
"I'm fine but.. Sherlock? He's here right?" Ms. Hudson asked John and he smiled.
"Yeah." He smiled, watching Sherlock as he pulled a broom from the cupboard. J
ohn stood and grabbed the dustpan and helped Sherlock clean the mess of shards. He tossed them and grabbed a towel and dabbed most of the tea from the floor.
"Ms. Hudson." Sherlock grinned and opened his arms as she hugged him. Ms. Hudson gently kicked John to get his attention and pulled him into the hug. It was brief but strangely nice.
"Welcome back to Baker Street Sherlock." Ms. Hudson smiled.