Part Two: My Soul, Blackened Though It Is
A few weeks earlier...
"It sounds very dangerous, Sherlock. Are you certain you've thought this through thoroughly?"
Sherlock paced the sitting room and disheveled his hair. "Of course it's dangerous, Mycroft. But ... if it works, it's my chance to end it all." End it all, quickly, and come home again... to find John, and see if he will forgive me. My chance to have my life back again.
"It's a perfect trap, or as perfect as I can make it. I'll be somewhat disguised. He'll think he's meeting up with one of Moriarty's other hired killers, one that he never met and who does bear a certain superficial resemblance to me... and who is now secretly in prison in Kuala Lampur, awaiting execution." He paced again. "His other confederates all missing, dead, or in prison, his boss long dead... I think he'll show up."
"Then why do you need my help?"
Sherlock took a deep breath. "The meeting location... it's a pub that Thomlinson, the man I'm supposed to be posing as, used to frequent. That's part of what makes it believable. Kroeger will see 'me' in the right place looking like the man he is there to meet. But..."
"There is always a 'but'," said Mycroft drily.
"The pub is also a favorite watering hole for Greg Lestrade, and some of the other Yarders," he said reluctantly. "John used to go there with them frequently. I never went, though I was invited, so no one there should recognise me... and John is safe enough in Aberdeen. As far as I can tell, he's had little or no contact with his old London crowd for months. But the others..."
"You want me to warn them to stay away."
"Not warn them, just find a way to keep them away. I don't care how. Just keep Lestrade busy; that shouldn't be too difficult?"
"Sherlock, I can hardly go about committing crimes just to keep Scotland Yard busy."
"Please, Mycroft. Just come up with some scheme that ensures that Lestrade and his people will be too busy that night to even think about showing up at the Goat in Boots, from 10 pm to closing time. Invent a crime, throw a party, call him up and say they've all won tickets to France. Just... keep them safe." He swallowed. "John is as safe as he can be, even if he's not happy. But I'd rather not put Lestrade and the others at risk."
"He's a professional, Sherlock. He can take care of himself. They all are."
"But they're not in Kroeger's league. They're... normal people, even the ones I don't like very much. He's a dangerous, heartless killer, who would certainly not bat an eye at killing a Scotland Yard inspector and his staff, nor innocent bystanders... and by all accounts, absolutely without a soul."
Mycroft eyed him closely, feeling surprise leak out into his facial expression. "And since when are you an authority on souls? And hearts?"
Sherlock looked away, out the window. Since I had to send John away, to keep him safe, by convincing him I was dead. My heart - and my soul, blackened though it is - are both in Scotland. "Please, Mycroft."
Mycroft sighed. "Set your plans in motion. I'll find a way to keep the Yarders out of the picture."