1.
John's phone flashed up with the "Low Battery" sign and promptly turned itself off. The doctor just stood in the street, staring unconsciously at the blank screen. Although John hated to admit it, Moriarty was right. He needed to talk to Sherlock.
Advancing slowly up the stairs, he could hear the detective pacing slightly more briskly than before and mumbling quietly to himself. Half way up the stairs, John's fears took over, causing him to doubt the plan to confront the detective and tell him everything. Wrestling with his conscience on the stairs, John heard the obviously irritated voice of Sherlock calling, "John, is that you?"
John felt he had no choice but to reply as calmly as possible. "Err," he stuttered, clearing his throat, "Yeah, it's me."
"Well get up here then! We don't have all day to figure out what the hell Moriarty is on about this time!"
John took a deep breath and wandered cautiously up the stairs, planning how the conversation might, but probably won't go. "Now," the detective began, "Knowing Jim Moriarty the way we do, what could he possibly know that I don't." he added. "Perhaps this is another one of his plans to get inside my head. Coil me up like a spring. Get me to prepare myself for a mental attack and then! …" he exclaimed. John held his breath, waiting for a reply. Sherlock's face went blank as he sighed away the idea. "I just don't know any more John. Am I losing it?" Sherlock exhaled deeply and slumped down deeper and deeper into the battered old arm chair by the window. Picking up his violin, he plucked occasionally at a few of the strings, staring into nothingness.
John walked over to the detective and sat across from him on a stool he'd pulled up. "You're not losing it," he said calmly. "If anything, I'm losing it. I've been trying to hide a secret away for so long now that I feel I have become less of a person, less of a friend because of it."
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked. John had no idea how to reply, so instead began to envision Mycroft and what he would say.
"When was the last time you saw Miss Adler? Irene Adler."
Sherlock looked puzzled. "It must be around 3, 4 years now? Why?"
"So it can't be her." John said under his breath.
The detective's forehead creased into a deep frown.
"Did you have any friends, female friends at that in high school or university?"
Sherlock adjusted his seat and cleared his grousing throat.
"Nobody that immediately springs to mind, unless…" the detective's voice wavered, "unless you count the night a friend and I went out for a drink."
"And who was this friend, Sherlock?" John asked, the curiosity to finally discover the past habits of the famous sleuth.
"Well, her name was Jennifer. She lived in an unbelievably rough part of London and was one of my, you know, 'gutter friends'." Sherlock looked down as if ashamed by this fact.
"Oh my God!" John almost shouted, "You went out for a drink with a girl from your homeless network?"
"I suppose you could say that." The detective retorted.
"And under what circumstances did you," he paused, trying to think of a way to word his next sentence, "Err, meet with her?" John asked, his voice stammering under the urges to snigger and the stress of the actual situation.
"Well, we talked and I remember dancing for some reason…"
"Did you, err, fall asleep, at all? You know, in her bed?" John asked, looking at his feet childishly.
"I- I don't remember." The detective looked as bewildered as John. "All I remember was a lot of drinking of some sort, and then we…" his voice trailed off as the blurred memory of what felt now only felt like moments ago came flooding back into his head.
"John," he said with his eyes full of terror and fury at his friend, "What do you know? Tell me, now." John looked up from his feet and stared straight into the terrified eyes of the detective sat across from him.
"Sherlock, your brother and I were asked a while ago to keep a secret from you; a secret that Moriarty knows now and can use against you. This secret is your most vulnerable quality; the one anyone could take, twist and change. We kept it from everyone but your brother, Jennifer of course and I. Neither you nor your parents knew about this, and I promised that they would never find out when I was told and-"
"TELL ME JOHN!" the detective shouted.
"Emily." John mumbled.
"Who?" Sherlock replied, trying to recognize the name.
"Your daughter, Sherlock; your most vulnerable quality."
