Sherlock Holmes felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he stepped off the plane. He took a second to bask in the sunlight now that he was back outside. He had never been one for the outdoors, but everything seemed a hell of a lot better when your death sentence had been revoked.
"Moriarty," he remembered, and at once he snapped back to attention.
Sherlock had to admit he was impressed. Moriarty had somehow managed to fake his own death well enough to fool him for years. And it goes without saying that causing your face to appear on every screen in England simultaneously was rather remarkable. He supposed it was possible that it was someone else who had broadcast the video, but as the balance of probability went...
Sherlock headed in the direction of the the people standing at the end of the airport; John, Mary, and Mycroft. As he got closer, he and John locked eyes and shared a childish grin. He couldn't help it, to be honest. He had been under the impression that he'd never see his best friend again, and though he'd never admit it, he was extremely happy to be staying.
"Had a nice exile then?" John grinned, shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Oh. I don't know. Felt like ages, to be completely honest."
John snorted, and before they both knew it they were giggling like little girls. Even Mary joined in, rolling her eyes at the two of them.
"So," John finally snickered, after the laughter had died down, "Any ideas then?"
It took Sherlock a second to realize he was talking about Moriarty.
"Seven so far," he said brightly.
"How..." John started, his expression one of disbelief, but Mycroft cut him off.
"I hate to interrupt the love fest, but we have more pressing issues at the moment," addressing Sherlock.
"Of course," he nodded, "I'm free to go then?"
"I've negotiated a deal. Bring him in, and all crimes will be... forgotten." He punctuated the last sentence with a sarcastic smile.
"Excellent. John, Mary, would you mind bringing the car around?"
John, probably too caught up in the excitement of the moment, did this without question, and Mary followed.
The audience now gone, Sherlock turned to his brother.
"You knew."
"Excuse me?" Mycroft asked, his expression unreadable.
"You knew that Moriarty was alive. You would have looked into it. You would have discovered that no one found the body."
Mycroft stared at him for a few seconds, and Sherlock felt a bit of triumph.
"The documents were... very convincing, and he obviously paid off the police. What did you expect from a man of his caliber?"
The Holmes brothers stared at each other for a few seconds, judging the other carefully. They were interrupted by John pulling up behind him and rolling down the window.
"Sherlock, come on, get in."
With one final glare at his brother, he climbed into the backseat, and John took off.
"Where am I going?" John asked.
"221 B. There's only one person who's capable of sending that message for Moriarty, and I need to contact her immediately."
Despite himself, Sherlock had to grin.
"The game is on."