Sherlock coughed, trying desperately to get the dust out of his lungs. His hands reached out, searching for flesh. He finally found an arm, and grabbed ahold of it.
"Ow, let go!"
Sherlock sighed in relief. "John," he breathed.
"Sherlock? You ok?"
"Fine, fine. Mary," he said suddenly, and heard John scramble around, pawing through the debris.
"Don't worry, I've got her," a faint voice called out from a few feet away. It was Molly. While John tended to Mary, Sherlock searched for Mycroft and Lestrade. He found them a few steps down the stairs, unconscious but alive. He mustered the strength to get up, stumble down the stairs and bang on the door.
"Mrs. Hudson!" he shouted. When he got no response, he banged harder, trying to break it down. He heard footsteps behind him and then John was there, kicking at the door. Between the two of them, the finally got it open. They heard feeble cries, and rushed to the kitchen.
"Oh boys, thank God. My hip!" The shock of the explosion had caused Mrs. Hudson to lose her balance, and in doing so she twisted her hip. She was lying on the floor, crying. John immediately rushed to her side, while Sherlock sagged against the wall. Why did he feel so exhausted? He was the first one out the door. It didn't make sense…
"Sherlock. Sherlock, no. Don't go to sleep, whatever you do. You're bleeding from your head." Molly's voice floated through his mind. "Sherlock!" He felt sudden pain on the side of his face. He scowled, and opened his eyes to find hers staring back.
"There we go," she said, pleased with herself. She then bustled around the flat, finding rudimentary materials. She came back and started doing something altogether painful to Sherlock's head. He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.
"The others," he said instead.
"Mary's fine, just a little banged up," John said, coming over to check on him. "I've got Mrs. Hudson into bed, and I'm about to go check on Greg and Mycroft. Everything good, Molly?"
"Yep," she replied absently, concentrated on doing something even more painful. John walked out, and then there was silence. Molly worked for a few more minutes, then spoke.
"Well, it's been a while since I worked on a live person, but I think I did ok. You can get up, but don't push it. You could faint if you move too quickly." She helped him up.
"Thank you," he said quietly. Molly beamed like she always did when he said anything nice to her, pink creeping onto her cheeks.
"It was nothing," she muttered. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they saw John helping Mycroft up. Lestrade was already sitting with his back to the wall, uttering a stream of colorful curses.
"Someone help me up the stairs, I need to see the flat," Sherlock demanded. John came down and took over for Molly, and they started to climb. When they reached the landing, Sherlock looked at Mycroft.
"This is just the beginning," he told his elder brother.
Mycroft looked down sorrowfully. "I know."
Mary was sitting at the top of the stairs, looking exhausted but alert. One arm was thrown over her stomach protectively. She managed a small smile at Sherlock.
When he walked through the door, it looked like a mini war zone. Plywood and plaster was strewn everywhere, and there was a giant hole in the ceiling. Sherlock stumbled forward, but John caught him, setting him upright again. He forced his hazy mind to start working again, and took in his surroundings.
"Interesting," he said. He could feel John rolling his eyes.
"The flat was bombed, and you call that interesting? I really will never understand you."
"Think, John. He put the bomb in the ceiling, where it wouldn't do enough damage to kill us, or even alter the flat much. It was his way of saying, 'Welcome back to the game.' I trust you remember how he started the game the first time."
John frowned, thinking. Then he looked up at Sherlock. "The so called gas explosions…of course. Do you think he'll try that again?"
"I doubt it, he's not one to repeat himself. This was simply a nod to the past. Now…I need to sit down."
John helped him to a relatively debris-free spot on the sofa.
"I'm going to get all the others in here, ok?"
Sherlock nodded. John left the room for a few minutes, slowly shuffling everyone in and shoving aside debris. Once everyone was situated, Sherlock looked up and addressed them all.
"Moriarty knew that after he left here, I would assemble the people I trusted to try and form a plan against him. He wasn't trying to kill us, but he did send a message. Last time, he thought there were only three people I truly cared about. He was wrong." Sherlock glanced at Molly, who smiled a small smile at him. "However, he will not be making that mistake again. Now he knows that there are, in fact, six – no, seven, people that I care about," he finished, gesturing to Mary's stomach. She grinned at him. "Molly may be right. This may not be about me. But Moriarty has not forgotten about me, and he never will. He wants to drag the game out for as long as possible. Our job is to end it as quickly as we can. Is everyone in agreement?"
Everyone slowly started nodding. Then Lestrade spoke up.
"Sorry, what exactly are we agreeing to?"
This time it was John spoke up, with the murderous gaze in his eyes that Sherlock had seen many times before.
"We're going to kill that bastard."
John insisted on staying the night to make sure Sherlock was ok, so Mary did too. Sherlock walked out of his bedroom to fetch his laptop, but paused for a moment. He saw the silhouette of John's head, with the fire illuminating him. Bits and pieces of memories flashed in his mind, of when it was just the two of them. He grimaced, annoyed with himself for allowing those thoughts to creep in. He picked up his computer, but instead of going back to his room, he brushed away debris and sat down in his chair.
"Mary in bed?" he asked John, who was staring absentmindedly at the fire.
"Hmm? Oh yeah, doctor's orders. With the baby coming soon, I don't want to take any chances."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Sherlock tapping away at his keyboard.
"Feels a bit like old times, doesn't it?" John said suddenly. Sherlock looked up to find John staring at him.
"Mmm, I suppose. But it never will be."
John smirked. He knew what Sherlock was doing.
"Look, Sherlock, you know we're still doing cases. When the baby's born, Mary's going to take time off from the office. You're still my best friend, and that will never change. You don't have to distance yourself."
Sherlock was silent for a few moments, trying to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Yes, I know," he managed to choke out.
John nodded, then turned back to the fire. They sat like that for another hour, enjoying the comfort of each other's company.
The next morning, Sherlock walked into the kitchen to find John and Mary having breakfast.
"Morning Sherlock," Mary beamed up at him. As he sat down, Mrs. Hudson bustled in with another tray.
"Oh, I just love seeing you two sitting there like that. Oh and you too, Mary dear," she added hastily. Mary chuckled and resumed eating.
"Don't be climbing the stairs too much with that hip, Mrs. Hudson," John interjected.
"I'm fine dearie, a bit of rest and I'm good as new! Although I can't say the same for the ceiling," she said, worriedly peering into the sitting room.
"Then get someone to fix it," Sherlock muttered, reaching for the marmalade.
"I heard that, Sherlock Holmes," Mrs. Hudson shouted as she went down the stairs.
"So, where do we start with this whole Moriarty thing?" Mary asked. John put down his paper and looked at Sherlock expectantly.
Sherlock took his time swallowing his food. "Yesterday he was simply flexing his muscles, showing off. Showing us that he still has power. We have to find out what he really wants. Then, and only then, can we beat him. Because right now, whatever he wants is his weakness. And if we can get to it before him, we can exploit that weakness."
"Right. Any idea what that might be?"
"No, don't have enough information."
John and Mary looked at each other.
"Ok, well I'll take Mary home, then come back and help you."
Mary frowned. "I can stay, I can help –"
"No you can't," Sherlock and John said at the same time. Mary's quizzical gaze turned to Sherlock.
"With what happened yesterday and you being so close to term, you don't know what effects it had on the baby. I would recommend scheduling an appointment just to be safe."
Mary's frown lingered for a moment, then her eyes softened. She laid her hand briefly on Sherlock's arm, then stood up.
"Well, I'm sure there's some crap telly I need to catch up on. Let's go, John."
John's confused gaze followed his wife out of the kitchen. He muttered to Sherlock that he wouldn't be long, then hurried after Mary.
In the car, John spoke up.
"Why were you suddenly ok with going home? You're more stubborn than that."
The corners of Mary's mouth crept up.
"Well for one, Sherlock is probably right. I should get checked, just in case. Normal pregnant women don't have a bomb explode near them. And second, I am sharing custody of you. He wants you all to himself for a bit, and who am I to be selfish?" The smirk turned into a full grin as she looked at him. He chuckled as he realized she was right. He wondered how he'd gotten so lucky to find a woman who understood.