Three years after fall

"Japp." Lestrade greeted when he saw ID James Japp's running toward him front of Yard.

"Lestrade." Japp stopped. He looked like he had swallowed a lemon. "Say, when you worked with that Sherlock, was it always this difficult?"

"What was?"

"That damn Poirot, calling me again, he said that I arrested wrong man. Can you believe it?! This is third time in month! But he's good, smart, and former cop, I have to admit that. But he and his, his…" Japp lost his word trying to describe the young private detective.

Lestrade smiled sadly. "Yes, sounds a like. Good luck with him."

Japp rolled his eyes. "Oh, maybe I should warn you. Jury and Plant…"

Lestrade raised his hand and stopped him to say more. "I don't want to know, really."

"Yes, maybe I don't want to know either. But there is someone waiting you on your office."

"Oh?"

But Japp was already gone and Lestrade entered the building. When he walked through the corridors he was preoccupied to remember the events of three years ago. He had felt Sherlock more than five years. Seen him at worst and then perhaps at his best when Watson had stepped on the scene. He stopped to catch his breath. The thought haunted him still. He had lost both of his friends and felt a nasty sting which was a mess of guilt and longing. Those thoughts circling around his head he greeted now ID Donovan, not realizing that she looked bit abashed, not greeting back her boss.

He walked on his office, taking his jacked off not fully registering the man who was waiting him.

"How I can help?" He turned to look and halted.

"Hello Greg." Familiar face greeted him and Lestrade though that his eyes were betraying him.

"John?"

John Watson, standing middle of his office, leaning on his cane. Cane? Familiar black jacket, short blond hair and that shy smile. Greg pulled John on hug and didn't want to let go.

"You are home. God, you are at home. What a hell happened? John? We all though that you were lost. That I lost you too. That you died too. I … John?"

How bitter that laugh was.

"Sorry, been in Canada and Australia after Africa."

"Why didn't you told us that you are alive? God John, how could you?" Lestrade hold him on his shoulder, really watching the man front of him. The eyes, the smile didn't reach them. So sad eyes that it hurt to watch.

"Lot happened." John shrugged and Lestrade didn't ask. He knew that eventually John would tell him if he wanted. More important was that John was back. And in his office.

"And how in hell you are here in my office?" Lestrade frowned.

"Official mater I'm afraid." John sighed when Lestrade finally let him go and walked to sot behind his desk.

"Official? You?"

John offered him his badge. Lestrade's eyes widened.

"Really? How?"

"Mycroft."

Bit of silence when Lestarde considered the new information and tried to internalize it.

"Of course. So, how can I help you sir?"

John grimaced. "Don't do that."

Lestrade grinned. "So?"

Something chanced. John suddenly felt cooler and more, professional. His voice lost the warmness.

"The case of that serial killer. The Sniper. I need all the case files. Every note what had made. And I mean everything."

"Can I ask why?" Lestrade asked although he already knew the answer. It was always like this.

"We take over."

"Why on earth you do so?" Again one obvious question.

"Can't say."

They stared for a moment and Lestrade sighed. "Can't be helped I guess. Sit down and wait. I collect them all. Meanwhile you have to sign some papers because of that.

"Already done." John smiled slyly.

"Of course. Where?"

"Superintendent."

"Oh, I bet he was glad when he saw you." Oh how much he wished that he had been a fly on the roof when John had met his boss. "Went well? Not hitting him again?"

"No need, this time. But he was little red faced when I left."

"I bet. Café? I don't offer you tea because you know what shit that is in here."

"Oh yes, please."

#

Mycroft never told why he wanted John to act and take over the case from Yard. And John never asked. Once Mycroft went through the files it wasn't so hard to find out the next target and the location. John had to admit that Mycroft's cold logic was more efficient than Sherlock.

The Sniper, mid thirties ex-military from U.S.A. army, was on his knees with his hands up, eyes locked at John who stood above him his gun ready. They were in the roof, high above the busy streets. The Sniper was annoyed and wondered who the blonde man was. This was a successful sneak up behind him without any warning and disarmed him very quickly and efficiently. And he looked so ordinary.

"So, dare to tell me, who's your boss." John asked because from the beginning it was certain that The Sniper was hired gun, not actual serial killer.

"Moran." The Sniper hissed angrily. John inhaled sharply. He knew that name. It brought back bad memories over the years.

"Sebastian Moran?"

The Sniper stirred his eyes. "Yes. Let me go. If you take my life, do you know what you'll get? You won't like what it is." he screamed. He couldn't believe he was captured and that man would just shoot him.

"I know."

And the Sniper could see only merciless eyes.

"Who are you?"

"Just a weapon, and you are just the next in line."

John aimed his gun and without hesitation shot. The blood splattered over his shoes but he didn't mind. He felt sick, sick of himself and his own reaction. He had killed lot of people, in war, and with Sherlock as order to protect. But this was something else. He had accepted this, of course. He knew that he was doing somehow right thing to do (sometimes) and like he had said, he was just a weapon, hired gun. But still. He was just afraid that he would get used to this.

John took his phone out and dialed the number out of his memory.

"Clean up."

He shut the phone and deleted the number. Then he walked away, trusting, knowing that others would clean the mess. He picked up his cane and his limp was back again. Two blocks later Mycroft's car rolled beside of him.

"Sebastian Moran? Are you sure?" Mycroft asked his voice suddenly icy.

"Yes." John didn't even flinched anymore that voice what meant danger to anyone who was about to meddle with Mycroft and his team. By now he had seen and heard more worse.

"So, he's back. I was right. Do you know him John?" Mycroft asked looking at him.

"Yes." John watched out of the car's window his mind going back to his early years in Army." He was my commander when I was in Iraq. He… disappeared. He wasn't exactly a good man. But you know that already, don't you? You know what he did."

Mycroft moved a bit what told John that he felt himself uncomfortable. So he had read about it. John's smile was dry.

"Yes. Two years ago I got some news about him. John, he was Moriarty's left hand, his watchdog."

John straightened, his eyes focused when he turned to watch Mycroft. "So that's why you send me the Yard. Moriarty."

"Moran left the country when Moriarty died. But it seems that he had come back some reasons. I have to make contact to… "Mycroft fell silent and he just glanced at Anthea who nodded, her eyes briefly glancing over his iPhone. "Yes sir."

"I want to know where he is. He has to be here in London. Both of them. If he truly is here, then it's time." Mycroft's jaw tightened.

"What is going on Mycroft?"

"It's time to tell you the truth John. And before that I have to say that I'm sorry and that it all was his idea, I helped because he asked. Because he begged me."

John stared him and felt himself suddenly nervous.

"You are good man John. And this… What he did to you… If you want, you never have to see him ever again. Say a word and I will do anything to hide you away from him. You are one of mine now John and I will watch over you."

Anthea smiled at John before she disappeared again behind his phone. Now very confused John watched his closest co-worker and his boss. They hide something from him. Why?

"What are you talking about Mycroft? Whom you are talking about?" John said softly, when the man avoided his gaze before finally answering.

"Sherlock is alive."