A/N: I'm very glad I got some very positive feedback from this fic. I'll try to update more often than I intended for your sakes. I'm very excited for this story. Also, if you read this fiction earlier on, and almost the day I posted it or around there, you might want to go back and read again. I updated/edited some parts that seemed to have gone missing during the posting process. Very much love, Cassie.

The silence that engulfed the room after Sherlock's leave was nearly torturous. The rain was still pattering on the windows, and drops could even be heard hitting the concrete below. John took a shaky breath before easing himself onto the sofa, resting his face in his hands, and rubbing his temple. It wasn't nearly five minutes that Sherlock had left that there was a loud, confident knock on the wooden door to the flat. John rolled his eyes over to the door, letting his hand fall moodily to the arm of the couch he sat on. As John sat up, the slow stride of heavy footfalls filled the corridor, and when he reached the door to the sitting room, Mycroft's heavily shadowed face appeared ascending the stairs. He smiled half-heartedly while he approached John, his pace slowing. John's jaw set when he saw the very unwelcomed and familiar figure.

"Here to take me away again, I see?" John looked up at Mycroft Holms with a twinge of disrespect in his tone. His lips pursed and he stepped back, leaning on the frame of the doorway, unimpressed by the entrance of the other man.

"No need for that, Doctor Watson," Mycroft replied smoothly. He glided around John, letting himself enter the living room of the men's flat. "Please," the man said softly, gesturing to the sofa as if the home were his own. "Do sit." From what John Watson learned from his time with Mycroft, he easily knew the smile the man gave was all for show and all the harm in the world could be brought upon him in a simple five-minute conversation with this man. John made his way obediently, though, not thinking twice about defiance. As he flopped down on the sofa, Mycroft began to pace around the flat. He began to pick up various items including John's old cane that stood forgotten by the fireplace, some books that Sherlock owned, and the infamous skull that John kept around all this time for whatever reason. After a few silent moments, Mycroft inhaled. "I've known for a while now, John." Was all he said, not even turning to face the doctor behind him.

John tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows gently up at Mycroft. "Known what, exactly?" he asked, his lips pressing into a fine line, and his eyes becoming unfocussed.

Unseen to John, Mycroft's lips raised into a knowing smile: a very dangerous smile for him to be wearing. "Sherlock's…homecoming," Mycroft settled on the last word as an afterthought, almost a humourous and light tone to his voice. At this time, he turned around to face John, the superior expression staying on his face, and making it pronounced simply for his dire need to feel in charge.

"Did you now?" John asked, his voice rising defensively. Mycroft hummed a low tone and began pacing once again. He skirted around the mess of alcohol and glass and slowly glided over to the sofa, staring down at John.

"A year or so, yes. However, that should be the least of your worries, John. I do worry for my little brother. Oh how I do," he said, the last few words fading away, almost as if he were speaking to himself, reminding himself. John's fingertips drummed irritably on the worn leather of the sofa and he looked up at the other man with a certain expectance.

"Is it?" John asked, pressing the issue further. "What else is there to worry about?" John pushed himself to the edge of the sofa, craning his neck to keep his eyes locked on Mycroft's figure.

"James Moriarty," Mycroft answered immediately, letting his eyes fall and meet John's. After a moment, he broke and let his eyes fall closed for a few seconds before inhaling again. "He, of course, has died. However…His men are extremely loyal to him. Yes, are." Mycroft's gaze returned again, more stern and professional. "It will not be long until they find out Sherlock is alive. And when they do find out, it will be a very welcoming sight for neither you nor Sherlock."

John felt himself stop breathing for a few moments before he desperately took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself relax before speaking. "What do you suggest we do?" He asked, tilting his head up at Mycroft who cocked an eyebrow down at John.

"Me? I have no earthly idea what you could do to prevent this. I was informing you in hopes of Sherlock figuring something else out for himself. He can be clever in that way," Mycroft smiled down at himself and turned on his heel, heading towards the door, and stopping at the frame. "It would do him some good to stay that way, I daresay." And he strode out of the flat, his figure blending more and more into the darkness of the hall the further away he stepped. The faint noise of rain pattering grew loud for a moment before dying again, the door clicking closed.

John was alone again with his silence and his thoughts. It seemed odd that Mycroft would visit only John to explain this only to have him relay the same message to his old friend. The mere thought of Sherlock would have made him livid just a quarter hour ago. However, now, it frightened him. The man who started it all; his men were still alive and they were out for blood. What if they already knew of Sherlock's coming, and had already coordinated plans for the murder to finish the job correctly?

It was this that haunted John's mind for the next few hours. Even his strong teas wouldn't keep his mind at ease. He succumbed to cleaning his mess of glass and the liquid, but the carpet seemed to be stained with the smell of strong alcohol. The rain had long then stopped, the damp smell, however, staying strong and pungent in the air.

John almost didn't notice when Sherlock walked in, hair almost damp, and smelling of rain. The detective stared right at John for a fair amount of time before resuming to his own chair he always used to sit in before the fall. He sat with his knees up, leaning harshly into the back of the seat. John nearly jumped when he realized the other man's presence.

"Mycroft came by toda—" John began, but Sherlock promptly cut him off.

"Yes, yes, I saw him walk in." His tone was nonchalant, uncaring.

"Do you know what he told me?" John asked, brushing away the annoyance, having been used to it.

"I don't very much care," Sherlock replied bluntly, keeping his gaze forward. He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his jaw gingerly. A small, and very faint bruise began to form on that area. It was turning a very ghastly purple and John felt a very small twinge of guilt upon seeing the result of his doing.

"He told me—" Again, Sherlock cut the man off.

"John," he said sharply. His eyes shifted quickly to meet John's and they were icy, just as uncaring as his tone. A quick silence rang through the men before John nodded.

"Fine," he said. "Fine." And he leaned back into the couch, letting his gaze wander out the window. It was quite late, and the night was beginning to catch up to him. John's mouth opened in an involuntary yawn, and his eyes fluttered shut momentarily. "I'm ah..Headed to bed," he announced awkwardly. Sherlock barely gave him any acknowledgement as the other man left the room and headed up to his room.

The instant John's door could be heard clicking shut, Sherlock swiftly turned around in his chair and snatched John's laptop from the table behind him. Of course it was locked, and Sherlock rolled his eyes at the ignorance of the man. So predictable he thought vaguely. It took him 3 guesses before correctly cracking the password (Bartholomew) of the laptop. Sherlock opened the browser and succumbed into a sleepless night of constant research.

A/N: Me again, sorry. I will not supply you with a bullshit reason as to why I haven't posted a chapter in a far-too-long time. I simply either a) forgot, or b) lack of motivation to write. I want my postings to be the greatest of quality and I don't like slapping together something just to post a chapter to keep you interested. I hope you understand. I was on a shared computer, so that's maybe part of the reason this chapter took a while. And now, I have my own laptop, and I can almost bet the next update will be far quicker. I love you guys and your support. Please be patient with me and I will put my full effort into each chapter I give you.

Which reminds me. Apologies for the short chapter. I have this story set up into five events. One event each chapter. I can tell you now that this and chapter four and maybe five will be a bit short as well. Quality, not quantity. ;) Again, thank you ever so much for reading. I can't help to babble.

Miss Cassie