Author's Note: This story picks up right where series 3 left off. Reviews are appreciated!
The Dragon
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Chapter 1 of 10
Fulfilling His Vow
Sherlock Holmes shoved the flight attendant aside and unlocked the door the moment the private plane stopped on the tarmac. He didn't wait for the stairs, just leapt out and sprinted down the runway, his hair and coat flapping in the sharp wind. He ran past John and Mary, ignoring their questions, and straight to the image of James Moriarty in Mycroft's car.
Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?
In less than the time it takes to blink, Sherlock saw the picture, analyzed it and came to his first conclusion.
"Mycroft," he said, "any hacker in the United Kingdom could broadcast Moriarty's face. We don't know it's actually him."
"Does this convince you?" Sherlock turned to see Mycroft holding up his personal mobile. John and Mary's phones started to beep at the same time.
The younger Holmes' eyes narrowed. He snatched the phone and watched the actual video of James Moriarty.
Did you miss me?
"Hairline receding," Sherlock muttered aloud, "additional crease beneath the right eye, extended wrinkle across the cheek. He's aged. This is recent." He tossed the phone back to Mycroft. "You said that M.I.6. confirmed he was in Belgrade!"
"They did, yes," Mycroft sighed.
Sherlock began to pace between the cars like they were the levers of a pinball machine, pushing him. "It's no coincidence, this. He returns to England the minute I leave to chase him? Bloody hell, Mycroft, he knew I was coming for him!"
"Wait, what?" John stepped into Sherlock's path and forced the detective to look at him. "You knew that Moriarty was still alive?"
Sherlock swallowed. "I saw him die, John. I thought I did. But those explosives on the train carriage under Parliament, those were traced to his network and, eventually, to him. I can hardly bear to think about how many people died to get us the information that he was still alive."
"How did he survive?" Mary demanded. "You must have a theory, Sherlock."
Sherlock's nostrils flared and his hands clenched into fists. "That day on the rooftop at St. Bart's, there was a sniper on the building opposite ready to kill John if I didn't jump. I've deduced that wasn't the only reason why he was there. He had bullets, yes. But he also had blood pellets. Pellets filled with Moriarty's blood type if not his actual blood."
"Oh, my God," Mary gasped. The ex-intelligence agent already knew what had happened.
Mycroft, who was having his own conversation on his mobile, interrupted, then. "I'm sending Mum and Dad to the States. Shall I summon Mrs. Hudson as well?"
"Yes," Sherlock said. "Evacuate all of Baker Street, just in case. And don't forget my skull."
Mycroft signaled the other driver to surrender his car keys to Sherlock. A minute later the drivers and Mycroft got into the first vehicle and peeled away.
"Sherlock," John snapped. He rolled his wrists in a gesture that encouraged him to keep talking.
"Yes, of course." Sherlock cleared his throat and continued. "That sniper was waiting for Moriarty's signal and that signal was a gun in his mouth. Right when Moriarty appeared to pull the trigger, the sniper fired a blood pellet into the back of his skull causing little more than a bruise. The gunfire was close enough that I mistook it for Moriarty's weapon discharging and I saw the blood but, in retrospect, not the actual wound since Moriarty landed on his back and… I swear, John, I thought he was dead." Sherlock's face flattened with regret, with shame. His eyes searched John's expression for a forgiveness that wasn't necessary.
"Christ…" John said. His throat, which had begun to constrict with dread, suddenly became so tight that he could only whisper. "That's what you were doing… You were going to Serbia, going undercover to flush out Moriarty once and for all. God, Sherlock…" John gripped his best friend's arm. "You wouldn't have gotten out alive. You didn't expect to."
Sherlock didn't deny it.
"So now what?" Mary hugged her stomach with both arms. "What do you think he wants? What do we do?"
Sherlock's glistening eyes suddenly went dry and fixed on Mary. "What you're doing," he said, "is getting on that plane." He grabbed Mary by the elbow and marched her down the runway.
"Sherlock!" John jogged after them.
"I'm not leaving!" Mary dug her heels into the cement. "Sherlock, I could help!"
"You're eight months pregnant!" he shouted at her. "You and the baby need to go somewhere safe."
John caught up and took Mary's other arm, but didn't pull her back.
"Remember how this all started last time, John?" Sherlock said as they watched the flight crew set up the stairs. "First Molly, then he threatened you and Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. Moriarty goes after the people I love which is why" – they reached the stairs and Sherlock shoved them towards it – "you're both getting on this plane!"
"No!" John and Mary protested simultaneously.
Sherlock shouted orders at the pilot, then returned his attention to his friends. "He was bored, John. Just bored, last time. Imagine what he's capable of when he's truly – truly – motivated."
"I'm not leaving you." John's voice cracked.
Sherlock took his best friend by the shoulders. He tried to disguise the crack in his own voice, but failed. "Please, John. I'm begging you. Sherl needs her father and as of right now I'm not a detective solving a case. I'm an outlaw going to war."
"Oh, Sherlock," Mary whispered.
"Go," Sherlock whispered to John. "Just go!" And because he couldn't bear to say goodbye to his best friend for the second time in fifteen minutes, he turned his back and retreated towards the remaining car. He didn't look back when the stairs were retracted, or when the engine started. It was so high-pitched and loud that the footsteps behind him went unnoticed until they were at his heels.
A hand snatched the car keys from him. "Mary hates the name 'Sherl,'" John Watson said. "So, where are we going?"
Sherlock couldn't help but grin. "Scotland Yard, of course. But first, I'm going to my grave."
To Be Continued