A/N: This story tells the tale of just what it is that John has been hiding from Mycroft, as mentioned in chapter 11 of After the Fall. It will be 3 chapters long, plus an epilogue. I will publish one chapter a day, through the 3rd chapter, with the epilogue waiting until after the end of AtF (hopefully before the US premier of S3 if I can't manage by 1/1).

The plot bunny that bugged me until I wrote this escaped from a set of PMs exchanged with Sevenpercent. Many thanks to her and to kate221b for lending me their eyeballs. :)


His mobile buzzed with an incoming text. John jerked with surprise, even though he had been anticipating the notification. Hoping for it with an intensity that bordered on prayer.

He shifted his anxious gaze down to screen and sighed with relief, feeling tension drain from his shoulders. It was from Sherlock. Of course it was.

John? - SH

John was more grateful than he could express that the message had come now, before he had to turn off the phone for his flight. He'd had to wait for Sherlock to initiate contact, not willing to take the chance that a message would distract Sherlock, or alert others to his presence as he made his escape. If Sherlock was texting him, though, that meant he was safe.

Of course, it also meant that he was checking up on John, which likely meant that he suspected John's participation in the clandestine rescue mission the consulting detective had taken upon himself. John hadn't really expected to be able to go undetected. If he managed to call in personal favors to put him in position to assist and get him there in time, he had no doubt that his genius flatmate would deduce his involvement. If not during the operation, then after. He might not ever say anything about it – not when doing so would reveal his own role – but he'd know.

John had managed it. He owed more favors now than had ever been owed to him, but he'd been where he needed to be. Now it was time to get back before anyone suspected his part in things. Before anyone else suspected.

The phone in his hand buzzed again. Sherlock was anxious.

John? -SH

The tannoy announced a final boarding call for his flight. John picked up his carry-on and draped the strap over his shoulder, approaching the gate while pecking out his response.

Bugger off, Sherlock. - JW

John handed his ticket to the flight attendant, accepting the stub she returned to him with a smile and a nod. He walked down the jetway to the plane. His phone buzzed again.

John. Where are you? -SH

You are not doing this, Sherlock. - JW

John hoped his response, in keeping with the tone he usually used when Sherlock's texts caught him at an inconvenient time, would divert the detective from questioning him too closely.

Doing what? Are you all right? -SH

Yes, I'm fine. Stop texting me. -JW

John found his row and apologized in broken Arabic to the business man he had to step over to reach his window seat. He settled in, shoving his bag under the seat in front of him before buckling the seat belt.

Where are you? You are not in the conference hotel. -SH

I'm on a date, Sherlock. One you aren't going to ruin. -JW

John smiled as he sent the text. It wouldn't fool Sherlock for long, if at all, but it would reassure him that John truly was fine. And safe.

You don't speak German. -SH

Sherlock had checked his blog for updates before texting, then, and seen his post about attending the medical conference in Berlin. He'd been fortunate that the timing of the conference had allowed him to travel legitimately to Germany, hopefully out from under Mycroft's watchful eye, before going to ground.

Interest in sex does not need translation, you twat. And she's American. Conference attendee. -JW

How long is the conference? I may need you for a case. -SH

You may be home already from your case in the Highlands, but I'm still several countries away, for Christ's sake. You know I can't come running to help with whatever trouble your case is getting you into this time. -JW

You always come running. -SH

Bugger. Off. Bloody tosser. I'll be home in 3 days. I'm turning off my phone. STAY OUT OF TROUBLE. -JW

And you. -SH

John turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket as the flight attendant came by, nodding politely as she met his eyes. Moments later the plane pulled away from the gate. As they taxied to the runway a tone sounded over the intercom and a voice began speaking. The announcement was given first in Arabic, then in English.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Qatar Airlines flight 221 from Karachi to Berlin with service through Doha. Travel time today will be fifteen hours, twenty-three minutes, expected arrival at five forty AM, local time. If you would direct your attention to the placard in the seat pocket in front of you ..."

John tuned out as the aircraft safety features were listed, the adrenaline that had kept him moving for the last 72 hours finally wearing off. The plane had barely lifted off before he slumped over against the window and allowed sleep to claim him, secure in the knowledge that Sherlock was safe, his mission accomplished, and he was on his way home.