Author's Note: If you like these, read Talking When You're Not There and Talking When You're Not There- Revisited, both one-shots.

Chapter One

"What are you doing?"

It's in the middle of the night. February in Almaty, Kazakhstan. There's a stray dog barking somewhere out there in the snow. Minus 19 centigrade outside, with six foot long icicles hanging down from the eaves of the rundown Soviet era hotel. Sherlock is feeling cold, hungry and alone, trying to find some respite before the morning, when he launches his campaign against the two "consultant criminals" who have been siphoning large quantities of this Central Asian republic's oil wealth into illegal bank transfers. Protected by a network of corrupt law enforcement officials and a few of the president for life's favourite nephews, this pair have their fingers in so many pies it is hard to keep count: heroin smuggling over the Tien Shen mountains from Afghanistan, people trafficking from Tajikistan into the Middle East for "domestic service", illegal currency deals, arms smuggling to various factions in the Caucus republics, and from the debris of Russia into the hands of Taliban fighters in Pakistan and Afghanistan- Almaty is a key staging post in the 21st century's new silk route.

The question is phrased in that slightly concerned, slightly annoyed tone that John perfected during the last months, before …the fall. That is the term Sherlock decided was the most appropriate term. (Yes, John, I KNOW that technically speaking, I jumped). But "the fall" seems to capture the experience in its entirety. The fall from public acclaim and the crash of his reputation (I don't care about any of that, John; you were the one to whom it seemed to matter.) The fall from a state of grace in the biblical sense, is how Sherlock now tends to view it, with the benefit of hindsight. Like Lucifer, he chose to leave his little heaven, and toil amongst the humans of the underworld. Like Lucifer, he is damned to walk the earth alone. (Alone, John, because friends protect people- you said it yourself; don't blame me, if for once in my life, I actually listened to you.)

And he is no longer under any illusions- this is definitely a personal hell. But, as awful as it is, it would have been impossible if he'd had to worry about the risks it posed to John. Sherlock never cares enough about his own safety, so he can take risks that he should never put on another. (I'm dead, John. Lost everything already. If I die, it won't matter to anyone or anything; in some respects you'll be safer if I did. By faking my death, I risked your life, and that of Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. It would be better for you all if I had died. This is…selfish of me.)

But, there are times when he cannot get that little question out of his mind, the one John had asked him numerous times in the last throes of the "game" with Moriarty. "What are you doing?"

I'm trying to solve this problem, John, find a way to stop the whole of Moriarty's set up- his network of consultants, his insurance protection of assassins and dark angels. Only when they are all removed or wrapped up and delivered with a shiny bow to the authorities will I be able to justify what I have done- to you, to myself. Only then will it be even remotely possible to consider the idea of returning.

When the nights are long and his plans are taking too long to deliver the desired result, he talks to John, tries to explain his actions, tries to counter the arguments that he knows his friend would be throwing at him, if the conversation were taking place, if it could ever take place in the future.

This is what I am doing, John. It would never have been enough to kill Moriarty. A man like that, no- not a man; a spider. He'd counted on Moriarty's contingency plan when he was captured; explained it to the head of MI6. "He will have put in place a series of escalating crimes, one for every day you keep him in. At some point, the price of holding him will be too high and you will have to let him go." To her gentle query, "how do you know?" he had answered with certainty, "Because I would in his place." She had looked startled. It was her reaction to his whole idea, but she listened carefully anyway. He continued, "everyone knows that he would have put this in place, that's why none of the other 31 countries are willing to risk arresting him." But, he'd convinced her to do it anyway, as the first step in his plan to bring Moriarty down.

Now, more than fifteen months later, In the middle of the night, when he got bored because he had to wait for the rest of the world to wake up so he could get on with his plans, he rehearses the conversation with John.

I had to make him fixate on me, John; it was the only way to draw him out. He had to want to destroy me enough that his ego would bring him to the edge, so he'd make a mistake. And it worked. I didn't have to go up there with a gun; he did it to himself. He thought he'd have his revenge on me by what he left in place, but I stopped that by going through with the 'suicide'. Don't you see, John, it was the only way to win? To save you? That's what friends do, isn't it? This time, I haven't disappointed you, I hope.

He'd had this conversation hundreds of times since that afternoon at St Bart's. He hopes, someday, he might have it for real. But, only if he survives long enough to complete the campaign. And only if he decides that John has not "moved on", put his brief time with Sherlock behind him and found other people, other things that are better for him. That's what friends do, protect people. He'd protect John from the truth if it is better for him.

Before, the fall, Sherlock had not told John about the plans, for one simple reason. If he had answered John's question, "what are you doing?" It would have led to another, "why are you doing this?"

Sherlock is still working on his answer for that one.