Britain's Most Eligible
It took Sherlock four months to trap Moriarty's criminals. Four months of working secretly with Mycroft and Lestrade to track every criminal assassin Moriarty had hired, every criminal who stalked Mrs. Hudson, John Watson, and even Lestrade.
Once Mycroft found the first assassin, Moriarty's scheme fell apart. A few weeks of interrogation, more detective work on everybody's part, Moriarty's scheme fell apart. Sherlock figured that as it likely took Moriarty more than four months to create the "game," he still "won." After all, Moriarty was dead..and Sherlock lived.
Yet it still took four months.
SHSHSH
"Are you ready to make your debut?" Lestrade spoke to Sherlock. Not even Anderson or Donovan knew of Sherlock's upcoming reappearance. Every character in this post-game was hand-picked by Sherlock, as even a minor mishap would cost Sherlock his career and reputation. "The press is expecting to have an official statement behind the Reichenbach incident, as it is being referred to by the general public. This pleasant surprise and news-worthy material will appease the media for some time."
Sherlock nodded, turning his coat up and straightening his shoulders. "I believe it is time Moriarty is beaten once and for all. Let the truth rear it's head."
If this were only about Sherlock and his reputation, Sherlock would have shrugged off the incident altogether, ignored the media attention that would have hounded him for a little while, and resumed his former life of quiet anonymity.
But Moriarty's plan involved the destruction of John's reputation, Mrs. Hudson's late-in-life peace, and Lestrade's perceived authority. Sherlock and Moriarty both knew that the destruction of Sherlock's reputation would harm those of his friends, and that was why Moriarty died believing he had won. Either Sherlock would live and his friends would die, or Sherlock would die and his friends would live as shells.
Sherlock was always about creating new options.
They would not tell the entire truth, as they needed to twist some of the facts to make the story more believable, but the left so much of the truth in the story that it made the story extraordinary.
"On the count of ten, then." Lestrade said, and glanced at his watch. Several reporters were waiting for him outside the building, and he was meant to meet them. What would be a routine but mandatory check for these reporters would turn into a highlight of their career. How would a faux suicide be anything else?
Sherlock nodded and picked up his mobile as Lestrade began to count down. He dialed his friend's number, as his face would soon be plastered over every television in several countries. His friend had a right to know first.
Sherlock made the call to John, spoke all of five words to his best friend, and then entered the spotlight alongside Lestrade.
SHSHSH
John quickly became nauseated when his mobile rang and Sherlock's name popped onto his phone. He had never deleted the contact, and now it seemed to haunt him. When he answered the phone, five words haunted him.
"John." Came the first word, from an all-too-familiar voice. "Turn on the television"
The phone clicked off, and John knew his friend was alive. Biting back fierce tears, John turned the telly on and listened to the reporter talk about fuel prices and other crises happening around the world. Within twenty seconds, live television came on and John received his first glimpse of his best friend in four months.
"Mrs. Hudson!" John called out, sobs already beginning to wrack through his body. He recognized the background of the news shot, it was the police precinct.
Mrs. Hudson joined John and with only a few words, John explained what he was seeing.
Lestrade did all of the talking, and several of his phrases would soon become headlines in the coming days:
Mr. Holmes, a hero.
After the verdict came back 'not guilty,' Mr. Holmes graciously agreed to do whatever it took to bring Mr. James Moriarty to justice.
Mr. Holmes, along with several officials, tracked the whereabouts of several criminal assassins.
Mr. Holmes, sacrificed everything to bring justice to Britain.
Government Conspiracy? Deception intended to preserve the lives of the detective's friends and family.
John clicked off the telly, put on his coat, and walked away from the flat.
SHSHSH
Sherlock knew that the unfortunate consequence of coming to the media would be his instant fame. But the government would stand by him, as Mycroft made very clear, and there would be full support to show that Sherlock was the hero everybody loved...and so that was what Sherlock would become.
Sherlock was still a "private" detective, and he hoped the media attention would fizzle eventually, but for now he needed to mend relationships.
When John walked through the mass of people, aided by an officer who knew the two friends, Sherlock's eyes immediately went moist. The flash of cameras spoke volumes of what the reporters really wanted: the emotions of a man who would sacrifice everything for a friend.
John apparently could do nothing more than give Sherlock a long hug. Sherlock returned the hug, grateful to have his closest friend with him once again. Cameras flashed.
"I missed you." John said, not caring that every word was being recorded to play on every large website.
"As did I," Sherlock returned, drawing away from John with a small smile. "You can't imagine how incompetent the government remains to be. Can you believe it took four months to bring down Moriary's terrorist cells?"
Sherlock clapped John on the back, a habit he had picked up after the last known terrorist cell affiliated with Moriary fell apart under the Mycroft's power and Sherlock's skills. They both turned to walk up the steps and into the precinct, where Sherlock nodded to Anderson and Donovan. The scowls on their faces were priceless.
"Anderson. Donovan." Sherlock said as he passed them. Glancing at the television screen, Sherlock saw that his face...with the hat...was plastered over every news station. "Lestrade, if you will excuse me for the day, I would like very much for some time to rest."
SHSHSH
"Actually, John," Sherlock interrupted John's frantic typing, "Perhaps this should be the last of the blogs. Fame doesn't seem to agree with me. You were right before, the media will turn against me in search for the dirty details."
John nodded. "It will be a tragic end to your story, but I think I can work it out to prevent people from prying."
John's typing slowed, his two-week project was nearly complete. He proofed the blog one last time, and without further ado, hit "publish."
Of course, neither of them realized that John's final statement of his blog, "This concludes my writings on one Sherlock Holmes," would only open Sherlock to even more curiosity. Truly, who wouldn't want to know more about the elusive detective?
SHSHSH
Two weeks later.
Sherlock spent New Years in the precinct. The new case he began working on was particularly difficult and, rather than rough the increasingly intrusive media attention he was sure to encounter on the way back to the flat, Sherlock sought the protection of the solitary law enforcement agency.
When the sun finally came up, and the early risers began to trick in, the entire wall was plastered with Sherlock's writings. A few passerby commented on his notes, hoping to draw Sherlock's now sought-for attention, but Sherlock waved them away quickly.
"Congratulations, Curls." Donovan said with a smirk when she entered the conference room.
"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked, a little shocked. He could predict the average person's conduct, and certainly somebody as vacant as Donovan. So why would she call him Curls?
Donovan smirked once again, and walked out. Sherlock immediately grew suspicious. She was far too perky, especially in Sherlock's presence.
Sherlock put down his pen, growing increasingly distracted. He needed to solve this new puzzle. For if Donovan was going to start a trend calling him Curls, the ramifications may very well be worse than Sherlock's hat fad.
Which was still all-too popular for Sherlock's taste. People actually wore the hats now, as a fashion statement. As far as he heard, the sale of those awful things rose by eighty percent after Sherlock reappeared as the sacrificing hero.
"Hello, Mr. Popular!" A detective called out, chuckling, and Sherlock tried not to flinch. With all his intellect, he knew something big had happened. Something that must have happened overnight, for the evening before was normal.
"Sherlock!" Sherlock turned to see Lestrade jogging toward him with a wide grin on his face. He held a newspaper in his hands, and Sherlock knew his recent attempts to stay out of the public eye had failed. "Sherlock, you just discovered the highlight of your career!"
"Your one true calling." Anderson continued.
Sherlock bit back a groan as he took the paper from Lestrade. The headline made everything very clear:
Britain's Most Eligible
"Oh no." Sherlock muttered, involuntarily. For in third place, with that stupid hat, was his face. The precinct erupted in laughter at the detective's shock, for most of them had never seen it before. Sherlock couldn't even keep the horror quiet enough to escape this small humiliation.
Still smiling, Lestrade gestured Sherlock into his office, which currently had its blinds down. Horrified, Sherlock followed him inside.
Flipping the newspaper open and skipping over the prince and brainless actor, Sherlock quickly found what he was looking for on the fifth page. An article, about him. But finally, a picture without the hat! It was a profile picture, as Sherlock rarely looked directly into cameras, but at the very least it was without the hat.
Sherlock glimpsed at the text, and immediately cringed. His career was officially over:
...The boffin detective and internet sensation. This eligible bachelor makes our list with his bright eyes and curly dark hair...
...Always immaculately groomed and dressed, this elusive detective has aristocratic features that have driven girls in several countries wild...
...but watch out for this one. Men and women alike describe the bachelor as eerily clever and motivated to a fault...
Sherlock ran fingers through his hair, absentmindedly trying to straighten his curls.
"We better get you another hat. To fit your new character." Lestrade said, laughing at Sherlock's expression. The man, at this very moment, could hide nothing.
"Not funny." Sherlock responded. He threw the paper into the wastebasket. "I am considering taking up permanent residence in this building. Obviously, I can never show my face in public again."
Lestrade laughed again, and then beckoned another person into the room. Already Sherlock knew who it was by the slow gait. "John."
"Well, I'm not sure how I feel about this, Sherlock." John said, sitting next to Sherlock. "But I will say this, I'm glad I'm not the one people are focusing on. You won't be able to walk outside for months without people recognizing you."
"I'm never going outside again," Sherlock responded, now thoroughly humiliated. Already, he could envision the girls flocking his flat. How was he supposed to deal with this?
John smiled, and threw something into Sherlock's lap. Looking down, a nasty look came over Sherlock's face.
It was the hat.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. I wrote it just to get me back in the writing mood... so we'll see how I like it in the morning. Mostly, I'm just excited to publish another fic I've been working on. Hopefully you will all see it soon! Please review, I am always fond of healthy criticism.