Written for the Tumblr Johnlock Party of 2011 (Team Lestrade!). The prompt was AU, so here it is. If you don't recognize the title, I weep for you. I disclaim the characters. It was written very quickly and without much thought for where to go next (since at that point I wasn't), but I do want to continue it.

Feedback would be lovely!

Sherlock Holmes. The name was famous. Round the world, there were few who dared to whisper it, hiding in the shadows, assured they were safe, that no one could hear them. But someone always did. Someone was always listening. And those who dared to whisper soon leaned the meaning of fear.

***
"You're the second person who's said that to me today," Mike Stamford said with a laugh.

John Watson frowned. "Who was the first?"

"Bloke I work with sometimes. Strictly speaking, he doesn't work at Bart's, but he comes in to use the labs every now and then. They let him, for some reason. James Moriarty. Jim, we all call him."

"He told you he was looking for a flatshare?"

Stamford smiled and nodded, then looked down at his watch. "I could take you to meet him, if you like."

"Bit different from my day," John commented dryly as they entered the room, the man at the table looking up and hanging up his cell phone.

"Hello Mike," he said. "Have you brought me a flatmate?" Stamford laughed.

"Wait," John said, pausing as he shook the man's hand, glancing over at his friend. "You told him I'd be coming?"

"Nope," Stamford grinned.

John stared back at the man, who eyed him with curiosity. "You're an army doctor, am I right? Just back home?"

John's hand on his cane tensed along with the muscles in his face. "How did you know that?" he asked.

The man gave him a mysterious glance. "I'm Jim."

"John Watson."

Jim walked to the other side of the lab table and began to put his things away. "So, you're up for going to look at a place, say, tomorrow, 7 o'clock? It's nice, not too small, and should be affordable between the two of us."

"Wait, tomorrow?" John repeated. "We've only just met."

"I can text you and send you the address, if you give me your number," Jim went on. "Can I see your phone? I'll put my number in your contacts so you have it if you need any help finding it."

John shot a look at Stamford, who grinned at him and shrugged. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and tossed it to Jim. He watched as Jim quickly keyed in a number and saved it, then started typing something else. He handed the phone back to John while he reached into his pocket, pulling his own mobile back out.

"There we go," he said with satisfaction. "I sent myself a message from your phone, so I've got your number." He picked his coat up and pulled it on. "I'll text you. See you later, Mike." He made his way to the door, then stopped. "Oh, I left my riding crop in the mortuary with Molly," he sighed. He gave a quick wave. "I'll meet you tomorrow, John."

John frowned. "What did that…" What had he just gotten himself into?

He wasn't late, he'd been careful about that, but there was no sign of James Moriarty and no one came to answer the door. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and had just dialed his new contact when he spotted Jim rounding the corner.

"Sorry I'm late!" he apologized as John shoved the phone back in his pocket.

John shook his head. "It's fine. I've knocked," he said, nodding towards the door marked '221B', "but no one's answered."

Jim frowned. "That's odd. I did tell her we'd be coming by." He climbed the steps and knocked again. John limped after him to join him by the door. "I've known the landlady for years, since my brother and I were young. She's a bit of a family friend. And I've done her a few favors, so she owes me. I'll try calling her," he suggested when no one came to the door.

"So, you've got a brother," John said as Jim held the phone to his ear. He knew next to nothing about this man except his name and that he had special clearance to work in Barts when he liked.

Jim nodded. "Older than me. Used to be in the army, like you, but now he works in the government. We don't really get on well, like you and Harry."

John gaped at him. "Me and Harry?" He repeated.

"Your brother? Ah, she's not answering." Jim swore and pocketed his phone. "Sorry about this."

John really wasn't concerned about that. "…But, how do you know about that, that we don't get along? And me being an army doctor. I didn't tell you a thing about myself, so how do you know?"

"You know," he said, sending a quick text to an assistant, "it's really quite good for me that you aren't more competent at your work. Your fourth so far when you've had almost as many months."

The cabbie sat very still, eyes fixed on the pale face in front of him. "Yes sir, Mr Holmes. Well, as you say, you can't complain."

"Your children will," Sherlock replied, lifting his cigarette to his lips. "It will be hard for them once you're gone, won't it?"

"Yes, sir," Jeff Hope nodded slightly.

"Better work harder then," Sherlock told him, a lazy smile tugging at one side of his mouth.