A.N: This is a story that follows Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows; the latest release in the Sherlock Holmes film series. It's a look into what could come next for Holmes and Watson and will most likely be a ten-part (act) story. I'd love for reviews from those of you who read; they'll be most welcome! Please enjoy and leave feedback – because the more feedback, the easier it is to continue writing! Thanks!

(I do not own or have any affiliation with Sherlock Holmes)

ACT 1 –

ONE year from today ~ Reichenbach waterfall

"And so you see, Mr. Holmes; you're not the only one who can play at that game." Moriarty's eyes trickled with a certain confidence that made even the great Sherlock Holmes' cocky smirk vanish. His eyes faltered for a moment and the saliva still present in his mouth found itself rolling down his throat like a solid ball; ready to block his airways. There was no escape. Holmes may have been a proficient investigator, and an extraordinarily precise observer – but he was in the presence of someone who matched him. Someone, who in every sense, could predict everything and more. This fight was not going to end well; not for Holmes – not for the world around him. So, the good private investigator simply chuckled uncomfortably. The clear decoding of the situation at hand raced through both of the men's brilliant minds. Each of them taking specific notice of everything about one another; the wounds, the faults in stature and the simple mistakes that came with one another's preferred competitive styles. But seemingly, both resolve led to the same outcome. Sherlock Holmes falling to his demise and Professor James Moriarty standing triumphantly tall as he watched the only man capable of stopping him fall to his impending doom. Though, Holmes wasn't one accustom to losing. To being outmatched. To leaving a job half done. And so he blinked, eyes narrowing on the partially opening door in the backdrop of Moriarty. Doom was imminent, and Watson was approaching; the clear smell of his alcohol potent breath from the liquor he had drank on the way to this very gathering in order to keep him at bay while tending to his wounds. So Holmes had to do what Moriarty was not expecting. He had to turn all the precise calculations on their head. Throwing his left arm forward and latching it around with his right arm which had securely pulled against Moriarty's back, Holmes found himself with a secure hold of his target. Throwing his body forward and using his firm right leg push, the wounded P.I cast himself backwards and pulled the scheming professor with him. But before they could fall, Holmes found his eyes locked with Watson for a brief moment; and in that moment – all that needed to be said, was.

'Goodbye old-boy.'

So the fall began, and Sherlock kept his grapple over Moriarty for the precise time; eyes closed as he waited for the proper moment to let loose. And there it was; the distinct feeling of water hitting his face, Holmes released and Moriarty was let loose into the rocky sides of the waterfall. But the shift in weight was enough to force Holmes in another direction. Directly into the path of the cascading water; water which added weight to his garments and made him a more solid and slowed target with the interference of a third party through the fall. So, the speed of his fall was altered and slowed greatly, and Holmes used his knowhow to drop in perfect pin-precision into the waters. Evidently, the fall was shocking and Holmes found himself stunned – but – after several moments, the sudden intake of water put him back into a mode of alertness. Typically, it would be panic, though, someone as planned as Sherlock Holmes needn't do such a thing. And so with a stolen (or as Mr. Holmes would claim; borrowed) apparatus from Mycroft; breathing need not be a problem.

PRESENT day

"Mary!" Watson's voice called across the home. "Have you seen my jacket? I left it on the chair by my office but it doesn't seem to be anywhere around there."

There was nothing for it; Watson never misplaced his things. It was something that his time with Holmes had taught him – something that had been pushed out of his habits. Misplacement just wasn't a thing that could occur when you were around someone as precisely annoying as Holmes was. A pulling and churning embraced Watson's stomach with that thought however. He wasn't used to the word 'was' when it came to his old friend. Because Holmes was never defeated – was never gone. He was always one step ahead, and two thoughts beyond the common folk. Never to be outmatched, outsmarted or outdone. But he had been. And for that reason, he now came to be something that Watson couldn't find comfort in; a was, a once upon a time – but without the happy ending.

"If it's not there, dear, I have no idea what you've done with it. You don't need it all that much; it's warm out today." Mary offered, finally finding her way to the good doctor's office to give him a love infused kiss. Watson and Mary were happy at last with one another. But while the two of them joked that their relationship would never be genuinely functional without Holmes being around – now that he was gone – it just seemed…. Seemed like the relationship needed him. Bizarre really; how a relationship between two people needed its third wheel. Though it was a horrible thought; thinking of Holmes like that, but furthermore, having treated him like that for a time. What a horrible person Watson had been. Pulling gently away from the kiss, John offered his beautiful lady a sad smile, "My dear," he broke carefully. "Do you – do you ever miss him?"

"And by him, you mean him?" Mary offered, not daring to mention the name that was lingering at the forefront of her mind.

"Yes." Watson said shortly.

"Of course I do. He had an effect on all of us, John. In his own way. No one can replace him -.." but Mary wasn't allowed to finish and the sound of a gruff, distinct voice brushed across the room in it's typical intruding fashion.

"Precisely!" it crept, "And it's for that reason that I have returned."

As quick as the voice had come, Mary squealed terrified, looking on at the wall that was seemingly talking to them. Watson had whipped his head around to meet the destination of the voice that he knew, oh, so well, and finally, the figure revealed itself. Revealing his personally made camouflage to match the Watson household walls, Sherlock Holmes' welcomed face appeared in all its confidence.

"Holmes…." Watson uttered, unbelieving of what his eyes had decided to show him. It wasn't possible. He'd been gone for a whole year, and yet, here – somehow – he was; standing in all his glory. "This – it's not possible."

"On the contrary, old-boy, it's very possible. I am here and therefore, the possibility of this being possible is well – very possible." Holmes uttered with a cheeky smirk, pacing forward and opening his arms dramatically in front of him. "Embrace me, Watson! I've missed you so!"

There was a pause; a long silence as Sherlock held his arms wide open and Mary held her breath uncomfortably in the background. John's eyes narrowed uneasily on the man before him, and rather than a brotherly hug, the doctor retracted his right fist and pelted Holmes' violently in the jaw.

"Embrace you!" Watson growled angrily.

"That…" Holmes uttered pained, shaking off the effects of the punch, "That Watson, was not an embrace! By god, man, what has this woman been teaching you in the art of intimacy!" Sherlock shot questioningly, pointing towards Mary.

"It's got nothing to do with, Mary, you fool! You were gone for one whole year! You led me to believe that you were dead!" the doctor argued back.

"It was the only way!" Holmes charged back in his defence.

"How?"

"Because!"

"That's not an answer, Holmes!"

"It's the perfect answer!"

"Oh, shut-up…"

Sherlock's eyes flashed down to the floor and for a moment he pouted disappointedly. This wasn't how he'd planned for this meeting to go at all; not even in the slightest. Finally however, Holmes allowed his eyes to track away from the floor and to the woman that had stolen his best friend's heart.

"Mary," Holmes spoke simply. "Would you be so kind as to allow me a moment with the dearest doctor?"

Mary simply offered Sherlock an unbelieving glance still and her eyes refused to believe what she was seeing, even still. "Of course. I think I need a fresh glass of champagne anyhow." She tracked mindlessly out of the room, disorientated.

Acknowledging the valuable time that they had alone, Holmes tracked towards Watson who had now vanished to the behind of his desk, dropping into his seat and rubbing his forehead. "I need an explanation, Holmes. You have no idea what you – you're death did to me."

"I understand – but you must understand, Watson – I was doing it for your own good. We know just how drawn to me you are, how much you truly love me more than Mary and how you would inevitably pick me over her if I so asked it." Sherlock spoke proudly, sounding a little self praising and undeniably stupendous in the way he was speaking.

John's eyes said it all, the way they rolled and dismissed Holmes' 'it's all about me' ideology. So with careful pressure and a light-hearted tone, Watson broke through Holmes' drifting tale. "Get to the point, Holmes."

"You wanted to get out, Watson. And this past year – I have done nothing to pressure you back into partnership with me. That's why I stayed away – because – if I had returned, inevitably, you would be working alongside me once more."

"So, if that's your idea – why are you back here? Wouldn't that mean you wanted me to work with you again?"

"Precisely!"

"No." Watson shut down instantly. "We're preparing to leave on our belated honeymoon and you're not putting it on hold – again!"

"Watson – there is a bigger picture here!" Holmes pressured, pressing his hands onto the doctor's desk and leaning his weight into them. "I have a case in which I need your knowledge."

"My knowledge?"

"Correct."

"Well – I'll tell you what you need to know; here and now. But you'll have to work the case alone. Like I told Mary, I wont be going along with you again."

"Very well." Holmes spoke, somewhat unhinged by Watson's words. He truly did want his partner back alongside him. Someone to support him through all the cases that pushed him to breaking point; a social friend in which he truly didn't mind having around his person. Someone who didn't annoy him to a point in which he wanted to blow his brains out. The only person for such a job however, was of course, Dr. John Watson.

"It seems that before his demise, Moriarty had a plot of the most sinister nature." Holmes spoke, eyes lingering towards the wall behind Watson; no sign of blinking. In a clear state of thought. "Professor Moriarty disbanded his control and lead over his plots prior to his death, distilling the responsibility in someone of the most trusted nature; Sebastian Moran, the ex-colonel and now gun for hire."

"Moran? As in… -."

"Yes. The walking, talking, smoking dishonourable discharge!"

"So, what? Moran's going to yet again try and start a war?" Watson questioned, a little uncertainly.

"I thought much the same, Watson. However – this plot is much more central to home. Moran wants to put England into a state of disarray. To destroy the homeland, Watson. And what better way to do such a thing then to-…"

"- target politics." Watson concluded.

"Precisely. If politicians and order is disorientated, how then can England – potentially the most powerful military force in the world – defend itself from the war Moriarty had plotted from the very start?" Holmes uttered. "Moriarty said something to me before his demise. Eventually, despite his actions, the war would start itself – because those which he was targeting were always going to have a purpose for war. Money, power; anything. The fact of the matter, Watson – war is going to go until time itself diminishes. And when time, diminishes, old boy; war will probably be the culprit." Holmes blinked finally, his eyes tracking back to the doctor and off the wall. "That, my friend, is a case even we won't see through."

A sad smile was offered both ways, and Watson's clearly ticking mind was only making Sherlock feel a little uneasy. When the good doctor thought, it was never good; truly. The thinking was something best left to the alcoholic P.I. Watson knew it, Sherlock knew it, and even the dog Gladstone knew it; even if he denied expressing his feelings.

"I want to come with you." Watson finally spoke.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want to help you stop, Moran. He's ex-military and I feel an obligation to helping you stop him. Especially if he's targeting England." Watson shot back simply.

"But your honeymoon?" Sherlock offered back quickly. Though, the clear sparkle in his eye was an obvious 'tell'. He'd known exactly how Watson was going to react to his return with this information.

"I think Mary will understand this, Holmes. The safety of our homeland and all that."

"Very-well. But I shan't be around when you tell her. Your demon woman shall blame me entirely for this." Holmes winked, offering Watson a nod. "By the way – your jacket. It's in your bedroom resting underneath the bed sheets. From what I can tell, you came home drunk in your usual fashion – and Missus Watson required some 'physical' expression of the love you both pledged to one another on that oh-so-fine wedding day. The jacket, seemingly, was lost in the fuss." Holmes uttered in perfect detail back, standing back to full height. "I bid you good day, Watson. I shall meet you tonight at your favourite restaurant." And with that Sherlock dispatched towards the exit of the doctors office.

Watson was sitting stunned as a result of the words that had been shot back his way. How Sherlock knew the jacket was under the sheets was beyond him – but furthermore – how it had gotten there? That was unnerving. Once more, John had underestimated his best friend's nose for detail and scenario decoding. Standing from his chair and pacing out towards the hallway, Watson followed down his stairs to meet with Mary who was sitting with her legs firmly on the ground and a glass of champagne in her hand.

"So can we go now?" Mary offered. "The train leaves in half-an-hour."

"Mary…" Watson struggled.

"We're not going are we?" she spoke back softly. She already knew; the moment that Sherlock had arrived – it was obvious – the honeymoon had been cancelled; again.

"Mary – look. It's the last time, I promise. This time; it's just different." He pleaded, almost sounding as though he wanted her consent to let him go on one last adventure; one last ridiculous, childish, death-defying adventure.

"You're a grown man, John. Do what you feel is right." She spoke back simply, offering her husband a smile. "Just come back to me; in one piece."

"I will. I promise." He assured, leaning forward and giving Mary a loving kiss on the lips. With a gently stroke across her cheek and one final deepening moment shared between their lips, Watson pulled away, but still longing for more.

"I'll see you soon." With a limp and a supporting lean on his cane, Watson opened the front door to his house and went on his way to meet with Holmes; just like old times. And Sherlock's know-how of Watson's die hard habits came through. Just like gambling when it came to the good doctor; old habits die hard.