Halloween 2
Summary: After last year, the Baker Street Boys are under house arrest. Of course, they see that as a challenge.
Warnings: Blood, swearing, explosions
Rating: M
John sluggishly scooped himself out of the cab. He'd had a long, yet fulfilling, day of chasing his crazy-ass flatmate round the dodgier ends of London. They'd caught the criminal eventually so all was well. He shuffled to the step, knowing all too well how bouncy Sherlock was. The man was as hyper as a small child given a full double espresso. John placed his hand on the door and frowned when he heard a slight rustling. His eyes wandered upwards until they came upon an official-looking piece of off-white paper that had been attached to the door with celotape. The doctor pulled it down to read. A figure wrapped around his back, a head resting on his shoulder. To the outside world it looked like a lovers cuddle but really it was just Sherlock being a bastard. John was used to these kinds of antics, they didn't go out but the genius was still testing the waters, still trying to see how far he could go before the doctor snapped. It was a game that John intended to win.
Turning his attention back to the notice, John began silently scanning the piece of paper. When he was halfway down, he stopped.
"Sherlock." He said slowly, deliberately. "This is a warrant for house arrest." The silent 'What the fuck did you do?' was all too clear in his tone of voice. Still wrapped around the small mans frame, Sherlock scanned the paper. He'd been waiting for John to say it wasn't important, no point reading something to just delete it later, but they had done nothing to be put under house arrest.
"It's only for one night." He answered, as if that made it any better. "The 31st of Octob… Oh." Both men came to realisation at exactly the same time. Lestrade didn't want to have to deal with them scaring the shit out of the whole of Scotland Yard again like they did last year.
Now inside 221b, John reread the letter properly. It said that both he and Sherlock, but not Mrs Hudson, would be under house arrest between the hours of 5pm on the 31st of October until 7am the following morning. There were a few clauses surrounding John's job and if there was an emergency but the final line was absolute. If they were found either outside or trying to leave they would spend the night in the cells.
"But I thought they never found the evidence to prove we did it?" John hummed, puzzling. Sherlock grinned. His phone beeped. The detective sighed as he fished the device out of his pocket, flicking his thumb across the screen. His face became the very depiction of a violent storm at sea as he read. Eventually, he held the phone out to John, seemingly too angry to even speak. The doctor raised an eyebrow but dutifully tilted the screen so he could read.
I have the CCTV, brother. The DI has seen this. You should have gone to Mummy's birthday. MH
"That bastard!" John exclaimed. Sherlock grumbled under his breath, the doctor managed to pick out 'selfish', 'unworthy' and 'Fatcroft' but he couldn't quite make sense of the rest. The detective's eyes were smouldering. John felt the cold chill in his spine, that look could only mean one of two things. Either; Sherlock was planning a gruesome murder or Sherlock was planning something truly devious.
"Sherlock." John stated warningly, trying to ward off any bad ideas. The consulting detective gave a Cheshire Cat grin, his eyes suddenly three shades darker. He glided across the floor until he was looming over his blond flatmate.
"Come John, we have work to do."
Mrs Hudson had set everything up for Halloween, she'd made the sweets, as well as buying some of those little Haribo packets from the supermarket because she was sure she didn't have enough time to make enough sweets for everyone. Baker Street was always very busy on 31st of October. Her boys rushed into her kitchen with a look of badly disguised mischief spread in equal measure across their faces. The landlady knew about the house arrest, the nice Inspector had come round to tell her early that day while the boys were out. Both of her tenants stopped in their tracks when they finally laid eyes on her.
"Mrs Hudson…" John hummed, unsure about what to say. The elderly woman laughed in glee, her Halloween costume was a success. Her and Mrs Turner from next door had decided that they were going to dress up so that when the kids came round they could open the door to then and join in with the fun. She had on and old ragged dress that used to be white but had now turned a light grey from over washing, it creased in odd places and the seam had come undone at the bottom, giving it the appearance of having a jagged edge. Her hair had flour in it, though really she didn't need it. The flour was more for the dust as she moved. But the best part of the costume was her face. Sherlock had given her a few lessons in makeup, as she had given him a few as well, and they had come in useful to make her look like a corpse. Her skin now had a blue-ish grey tinge and her eyes looked shallow. Sherlock clapped slowly.
"Well done, Mrs Hudson." He hummed appreciatively. "I'm sure you'll give the children a fright." Mrs Hudson preened under the high praise.
"What can I do for you, boys?" She asked motheringly.
Lestrade sighed, slipping into his sofa cushions. He'd bagged this night off as soon as he'd been able. There was no way that he was going through the events of last year again. Sherlock and John were under house arrest and Sally Donavan had been ordered to follow through with the jail cell bit of the threat should they be found outside the flat. The landlady had been warned as well, Sherlock listened to her. Perhaps if she had a word of him then she could persuade him not to do anything. Well it was worth a shot anyway.
The TV buzzed lowly in the corner of the room, not really being viewed but switched on to fill in the silence. Lestrade grabbed the can of beer from the floor and took a swig. He'd switched the porch light off so that the neighbourhood kids wouldn't bug him. Sometimes he wished he was working. Greg thought back on last year and laughed, he definitely didn't want to be in work on Halloween, even with Sherlock locked up. There was always someone out there causing havoc. The DI sighed again and closed his eyes, resting the beer can against his chest.
John pushed his back against the wall; the cold wind battered his face. This was such a bad idea. A large hand enclosed around his own and the doctor became aware that he was not alone.
"If I get sent to court over this I swear I will kill you." He murmured murderously. A baritone chuckle emitted from the man beside him.
"That would do nothing to help your case." He hummed in reply. "Now be quiet, the next part is the trickiest bit."
The guards were facing outwards, looking on the street. Lestrade certainly wasn't taking any chances with them. John absently wondered what he'd told them this was for; surely they didn't know the whole story. His hand was tugged by the taller male and they crept round the side of the building. The doctor saw something move and flicked his head back round to see a small boy in a pirate costume rush up to one of the guards. He kicked the man in the shin and took off down the street, followed by two angry guards. John raised an eyebrow.
"Was that something to do with you?" He asked. Sherlock quirked a smile.
"Perhaps." He answered cryptically. Before the doctor could ask anything else, he was quickly dragged down the street in the opposite direction.
They ran down alleyways and over rooftops, dodging the CCTV cameras, until they were bent over double with a chimney as support, the air fogging up as they huffed.
"I've gotten seriously unfit." John panted, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Sherlock laughed breathlessly.
"I'll remind you next time you don't want to join me on a case." He answered, wiping his fringe out of his eyes as he stood up straight again.
"So who are we going to first?" The soldier enquired, rolling his shoulder and wincing as it cracked, he really should have stretched before going on this crazy escapé.
"That would spoil the surprise." His flatmate hummed coyly.
Mycroft Holmes sat at his desk at MI6 HQ. This was his favourite office by far, the window allowed a view of the street below without being at risk from snipers. Which meant he could people watch to his heart's content between meetings with the Prime Minister and stopping the third world war from breaking out. The elder Holmes allowed himself a small smile then turned back to his computer screen as it pinged to inform him of an email received from a senator in the USA.
He typed quickly; really they needed help with everything. An eerie whirring sound rushed through the room. Mycroft looked at the computer questioningly, it was the only device in his office capable of creating such a sound and yet he was sure it was not where the whirring originated from. The government official stood up and walked round the desk, moving to check the connections on the back of the standup. Everything was in place as it should be, so what made the noise? The power flickered then died completely. Another whirr kicked in as the lights flicked on again, followed by a verbal warning stating the building was in lockdown for the next two hours, as was common practise when the power went out. Mycroft frowned then shrugged, keeping the information stored in an easy to reach place in his mind. He had worked to do; he'd figure this out eventually.
The screen flickered lazily, as though it couldn't decide where it was going to lose power or not. There had been no reason for the black out, Mycroft suspected foul play, and that could be from any number of people or organisations. The government official turned off the computer and pulled up his phone instead, he had email access on his mobile but the screen was stupidly small for reading them. How Anthea put up with it on a daily basis was astounding, her face was barely, if ever, raised from that tiny screen. Annoyed with the turn of events, but not entirely surprised by it, Mycroft began typing again.
"Stage one complete, Cap'n." John said with his best pirate impression. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but otherwise ignored the strange accent.
"Excellent." He hummed. "Now time for the fun part." John felt a cold shiver cascade down his spine. He remembered just how much he enjoyed Halloween. Stealing a glance at his flatmate, the doctor took off across the rooftops, leaping over alleyways as though they were cracking in the pavement.
Back at Baker Street, Mrs Hudson bustled out to the front of her house.
"Excuse me, gentlemen." She hummed, they both turned to look at her, eyebrows raised through their foreheads as they took in her attire. "I know my boys are in trouble again and all but could you stand down the street, or perhaps come inside instead. You're scary away the children."
"Sorry madam, but these are our posts." The first guard answered. "We've been instructed not to leave them unless the targets try to exit."
Mrs Hudson nodded and tottered back inside, only to return carrying three lantern shaped buckets.
"You can help me dish out sweets to the children then." She stated, pressing a bucket into each set of arms. Though the guards tried to say no and get her to take them back, there was to be no messing with the landlady of 221b when she had her mind set. And anyway, they were still blocking the exits so the two men wouldn't be able to escape without passing by them.
The children loved their costumes, two policemen and an elderly ghost, and the parents smiled as well. Soon the guards were enjoying themselves all too much, handing out sweets and small cakes to each group that passed by, that they had emptied their buckets. Mrs Hudson grinned and collected them up, promising to be back soon with more.
"Your costume looks so real." A little kid said in awe. The guards chuckled.
"That's because they are real." The first answered. The mother of the child cocked her head.
"You're really policemen?" She asked. "Shouldn't you be on duty?" The two laughed.
"No, this is our assignment for the night." The second answered, well it wasn't really a lie. They were on assignment and it was to stand in front of the house. There was nothing to say they couldn't hand out sweets as well. The mother pressed her lips together, unsure of whether to believe them, but continued to pass by anyway. Mrs Hudson ran up the path to them, her face shocked.
"They're gone." She panted, handing a note to the guards. "My poor boys, I knew they shouldn't have been locked up. Bad things happen when they're trapped in one place." She babbled. The guards held up the small piece of paper so the street lamp shined on it.
Don't worry, darlings, they'll be safe with me. Until they're not, that is. M
"Whose M?" The first guard asked, confused.
"I don't know, Kev, but you're going to have to call it in."
"Me? Why don't you?"
"Because you're the one in charge!" Kevin rang up the office, scowling at his partner. Sergeant Donavan answered, clearly annoyed.
"What do you want?" She snipped.
"The targets, they've been kidnapped…" Kev mumbled. He quickly pulled the phone away from his ears as his superior started screaming something quite rude and very degrading. The guard shot a withering look at his partner then tentatively brought the speaker back to his ear.
"The kidnapper left a note, it was signed 'M'." The line was silent. "Does that mean something?" There was a long pause.
"Stay there." Donavan said lowly. "And for God's sake don't go into the house."
Bring-bring. Bring-bring.
Lestrade groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stood, and cursed at the beer can fell to the floor, the dregs forming a small puddle on his carpet. The phone continued ringing and he searched among the rubbish for it, finding the damn thing under a random cushion his ex-wife had bought many years ago.
"Lestrade" He answered wearily, trying to stretch the crick out of his neck.
"Sherlock and John are gone." Sally said. The DI was suddenly awake.
"What? How could they have gone? We had guards everywhere!" He exclaimed.
"It's worse than that." Sally continued. "They were kidnapped."
"They what?" Lestrade was sure he heard wrong, there was no reason for them to be kidnapped. They weren't in the middle of a case, not one involving Scotland Yard anyway, and really no kidnapped should have been able to get in.
"He left a note. It was signed 'M'." Sergeant Donavan finished in a hushed voice. Greg blinked. Moriarty. But it couldn't be him; they hadn't heard hind nor tail of the man for months.
"Shit."
Sherlock laughed quietly, turned the screen to face John. The soldier valiantly tried to hide his smirk as he saw the DI rushing to get dressed, stepping in the patch of beer and cursing loudly as he ran back to his room to get another pair of socks. They were currently sat on the detective inspectors roof, a small wire trailing down the side of the building and into the living room via the window. It was a good thing that Lestrade was so oblivious, Mycroft would notice a small camera straight away.
Speaking of which, The DI had retrieved his phone from the arm of the chair and was hitting the speed dial.
"Mycroft?" The detective asked, worry in his voice. John raised an eyebrow.
"Why does the Lestrade have your brother on speed dial?" He enquired. Sherlock pursed his lips.
"You really don't want to know." He answered lowly, turning back to the screen.
"Well you've got the bloody cameras everywhere! Just find them!" Greg yelled, ending the call violently.
The inspector grabbed his coat and ran outside, trailing a string of curses behind him. The two men on his roof scampered back quickly to avoid being seen as the DI took off down the street. Sherlock wound the camera back up using the wire and pocketed it inside his coat. John glared at him, wishing his own jacket had such large pockets. His hands were freezing.
"You should have thought about that sooner." Sherlock snipped, pulling the blond doctor back over the rooftops.
Mycroft cursed. If it weren't for Greg's clear distress, he would have thought this to be a hoax. The silver haired man did like to have a laugh, usually at his own expense. This was not the type of joke that the DI indulged in, however. The elder Holmes' next thought went to a breakdown in communication, someone had told him wrong or he had misinterpreted. But no, the camera's were shockingly bare. The crackled black and white image showed the two guards holding a small piece of paper up to the light, one was shaking visibly while the other made a call, presumably to that female sergeant who worked with Greg, who then passed the message on. He tried to enlarge the image on his phone, the computer still not working, but it only blurred the footage more.
But this Moriarty thing was more of a worry. If it really was the consulting criminal, and Mycroft Holmes was not quite prepared to admit that it was, then his brother and the good doctor were in serious danger. Mycroft was not prepared to take that risk. He quickly called a rescue squad into position, as well as scouts around London. Though CCTV was good for general watching, Sherlock knew where each of them hid and if he knew then it wasn't a far stretch for Moriarty to know where they were as well. Not only that, but the man was a master hacker and Mycroft wasn't sure if even MI6's firewalls would stand up to an attack.
The government official cursed silently as he tried to load the CCTV footage onto his phone, with his computer not working now at all, but the damn thing wouldn't come up. Without his extended view of London, Mycroft found he had no choice. He had to go out himself, see the lay of the land for himself. He had learnt the hard way that he couldn't rely on his men for an accurate account, which was why he'd set up the camera system in the first place.
Greg waited outside MI6, he didn't enter because… it just wasn't done. He wasn't that needy and Mycroft would just… No. He would wait outside. But the man must be ready to come out now, surely. He said he was coming straight out. Every second wasted was a second not looking for… but Holmes knew that too, it was his brother after all… and he liked Watson. A figure walked out the door and Greg sighed, quelling his flustered mind. The elder Holmes brother locked eyes with him and made a beeline straight to him, there wasn't the usual daily as he pretended to make his way home.
"Have you any more information yet?" He asked briskly. Greg shook his head.
"We're searching the flat now but there's nothing to say where they could be." He answered. The two walked down the street together, comfortable with the movement but still on edge. They had made this walk many times before but never with this conviction. Lestrade sneaking glances at the other man, who had his own eyes straight ahead, never wavering. He was worried. There were only ever two things that caused the great at Mycroft Holmes to be worried, one was imminent world destruction and the other always concerned his brother. Greg didn't say anything though, Holmes was thinking and to distract him could mean dire consequences.
They came to the front of the house, which was swarmed by Mycroft's squad and a few trusted police officers. Sally Donavan came out to greet them with a worried look on her face; she didn't trust the elder Holmes anymore than his brother but she certainly liked him more than the consulting detective.
"There is nothing in the house, we check for explosives too, there was something but it looked like it was one of the fr- one of Sherlock's experiments." She corrected herself quickly. If the government official heard the slip, he didn't show it. Instead he nodded once and sidestepped her. Once the man was out of site, the DI turned to her.
"What the hell were you thinking?" He hissed. "If you call Sherlock a freak in front of him, he will probably have you executed." Donavan hoped that was an exaggeration. The look in Greg's eyes made her doubt it though.
Sherlock paused three roofs down from their own.
"Stay here." He mouthed to John who, though affronted, nodded and pressed back into the shadows. The detective took off, keeping almost completely out of sight. Though John tried to keep track of where the crazy bastard had got to, his eyes lost sight of the man and couldn't find him again.
"John."
"Shit!" The doctor cursed, causing a hand over his mouth and a low chuckle in his ear.
"It's not my fault you weren't paying attention." The detective sarked; removing his hand as he received a particularly vicious death glare from the soldier.
Silently, Sherlock beckoned John to the back of the building and down the dodgy fire escape. They crept down, making almost no noise at all, which was quite an achievement on a rackety metal ladder, and slipped away into the back garden. They hid below the hedge as they ran across, trying to keep in the dark. They continued through hedges and over fences until they came to their own back garden, which had one person in a black jacket patrolling it. Sherlock signed 'Brother' to John, who nodded and they slipped back through the hedge.
When they were far enough away to not be overheard, Sherlock grinned wildly.
"It's all going according to plan." He hummed, pleased with himself. John smirked back. Then something knocked him off his feet.
The doctor became aware of several things all at once. First, was the undulating roar that filled his ears. Second, the trembling that rippled through the ground below him. Third, Sherlock falling to the ground beside him, caught just as off guard as he was with a look of pure panic. Fourth, was the smell of burning, horrible plastic-melting, dust scorched burning. Fifth, the flecks of God-knows-what floating through the air around him. Sixth, the sounds of terror as his hearing finally came back to him. John froze, his hands clutching the ground to support himself. Sherlock looked physically fine as he slowly stood up, brushing himself off, but his eyes still held that deer in headlights fear.
"What the fuck was that!?" Greg exclaimed when he returned to his feet. The ground still felt like it was shaking beneath him, though his head felt a little fuzzy so it could be him that was swaying, not the ground. Lestrade nearly hit the ground but he was saved from concussion by a pair of strong hands gripping him and holding him upright.
"Greg, are you alright?" The sound was muffled, like he was listening from underwater, but the voice was definitely familiar. His eyes cleared and he found himself staring into those of Mycroft, who repeated his question.
"Yes?" Greg tried, but it was clear that it was a lie. "No." He frowned. "I don't know." Then the ground started to quake again and the elder Holmes was calling for a medic as Lestrade's legs gave out completely.
"Sherlock, tell me that wasn't you." John stated slowly as he looked at the burning wreck of the building opposite 221b.
"That wasn't me." Sherlock replied with vexed conviction. "Honestly John, do you really think I would blow up a building?" His voice held hurt, the likes of which John hadn't heard in a very long time.
"Of course not." He answered instantly, regretting his decision as soon as the words left his mouth. "I just… forget it. Let's go." John huffed, taking off in the direction of the explosion. He was stopped by a firm hand.
"You can't do that, John." His flatmate said. "They think we've been captured by Moriarty, remember? When they realise we haven't they will definitely suspect us of the explosion." The doctor's face set in a hard expression.
"There are people injured, Sherlock. I will not stand by just because of a just prank gone wrong. If you don't want to come, fine. But I am going." John pulled his arm away and ran down the street.
The detective stood in the street, debating whether to go after his friend. He should, his whole body said he should, but his brain wasn't so sure. Sherlock had forgotten all about keeping out of sight, it wouldn't matter now anyway as people were all so busy trying to work out the damage, they wouldn't offer him a second glance.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock's head whipped round and his eyes pierced the dark haired male behind him, who continued to speak. "The chaos. It is just wonderful, by far my most favourite part."
"What are you doing here?" The detective growled. Moriarty grinned.
"Well you did call, dear." He hummed. Sherlock scoffed.
"I did no- oh." The term 'speak of the devil' came to mind. Moriarty's grin grew wider, showing his teeth in an almost predatory way.
"And if I'm called by my old friend, who am I to let it lie?" The criminal asked. "So, of course, I decided to join in. This Halloween lark is fun, isn't it?"
Sherlock's head turned back to the direction John had run in, the sudden realisation that he could be in danger. The Irishman behind him chuckled.
"You've become sentimental, darling." He said. "But I guess you were half way there already." Sherlock ran, he didn't bother asking the criminal if there were any more bombs because he was sure to not get a good answer. And even a direct answer would leave him second guessing as he could never really tell if Moriarty was lying or not.
John realised just how awkward this was going to be when he found himself in a group of squad team members, some passed out while others tried to take care of them. Mycroft was nowhere to be seen, and nor was Lestrade. The sound of an ambulance blared passed but John didn't pay much attention to it, it was not going to stop here. He ran to the first body on the floor, pulling up the visa of the helmet to examine him. He was out cold and blood had trickled from his ears. The helmet had mostly protected him from the blast, if the glass scrapes down the sides were anything to go by, but the shockwave had probably perforated his eardrum. There was not much that could be done for him so John slipped the man into the recovery position and moved on.
It wasn't long before someone recognised him.
"John?" The doctor looked up and felt his blood run cold as he stared into the eyes of the sergeant. He cleared his throat.
"Hi Sally." That was lame. That was stupid, she was going to be so pissed off with him, he was going to be in jail for the rest of his life.
"JOHN!" Fucks sake, what now? The doctor turned to see his lanky best friend running full pelt towards him. Sherlock nearly slammed straight into him in his attempts to stop but he just managed to swerve as he caught hold of the doctors good shoulder.
"It's Moriarty." He panted. John glared at him; this was not a good time for stupid games. The soldier opened his mouth to tell Sherlock this when he was interrupted by a high pitch giggle.
"Hiya Johnny Boy, miss me?"
John punched him. Instinct just took over and he floored the man. Could the doctor say he didn't want to? No. But if he had had chance to think about it he would probably have held himself in check because you don't just punch the most powerful criminal in the world and expect to get off scot free. Moriarty rubbed his jaw as he gracefully stood.
"Always a surprise, isn't he, Shirley?" Jim hummed, rolling his jaw. Sherlock moved so he partly shielded John from the psychopath.
Sally had never seen Moriarty in person before but she instantly knew who he was. And she also knew that Dr Watson was now in serious danger. Perhaps he had been all along. The doctor seemed to be regretting his decision immensely, but he also looked rather pleased for doing it. Sally discretely slipped away into the darkness to call for backup. And to let the other Holmes know what was going on.
Moriarty smiled, his lip had spilt from the punch so his lower face and white shirt were drenched in blood. The psychopath didn't even seem to notice.
"I was just going to pop by and say hi before going on my merry way." The criminal said. "But since it's clear you two crave my company, I'll stick around a bit longer." With the smile still plastered on his face, Moriarty drew a handgun and shot the guard on the ground closest to him. John jumped to get to him but the barrel of the weapon turned to aim at him.
"I don't think so, Johnny Boy." The voice was cold. "I'll shoot another one each time you take a step."
John paused. The guard was so close, the blood pumping out of him and pooling beneath him. A thought flashed in the doctor's mind.
"It's not worth it John." Sherlock warned in a low murmur, Moriarty still heard him though as he cocked his head. The doctor gave his friend one last glance then executed a forward roll, careful to come to his knees instead of his feet. It wasn't a step and he was now right beside the man, pressing his hands against the gunshot wound. Moriarty blinked, the gun raised at the next body. But he didn't shoot. He was too shocked at being outsmarted by the plebeian doctor.
The criminal put the gun away silently, his brow creased in thought. Sherlock couldn't wipe the smirk off fast enough as he earned a glare from Moriarty. The detective shrugged.
"He's not as dumb as you think, is he?" He quipped. Jim glowered but said nothing. Instead, he looked longingly at the unconscious man beside him. He had expected the doctor to go to the shot guard, and that man on the floor beside him was the one he'd picked to shoot. And now he couldn't shoot him, it just won't be right. He'd been beaten by an idiot. Moriarty sighed heavily.
"Well I guess I'll be off then." He moped. "And don't worry about next year, Shirley, I'll have the perfect prank all thought up for you. This one didn't go to plan…" Then he walked away dejectedly, brushing against the detective ever so slightly as he passed.
Sally Donavan was livid.
"You let him get away?" She squawked. "He was two metres away from you and you let him just walk? We had him!" Sherlock curled his lip in disgust. He saw that his friend was about to speak and decided to get in first.
"Did you not see the man bleeding out on the floor, one of your officers might I add. How do you think he got to be in that state? Do you think I shot him? No? Well how about John then, I'm sure John always tried to save the people he shot. Oh, wait, my mistake. John didn't shoot the officer bleeding out from a gunshot wound and was in fact helping him because it was the right thing to do and he is a doctor. Well then, what can we deduce by these facts? I do not possess a gun. John did not shoot him. Who else was there?" Sherlock waited patiently like he wanted a response. Sally didn't give him one but he acted as though she had anyway. "Moriarty, that's right. And so it is reasonable to assume that Moriarty may have had a weapon that he fired without any remorse on an unsuspecting, innocent officer that John then went to save. As weapons don't tend to just disappear, I think it is safe to assume he still had it after shooting your poor officer. And to try and stop him leaving would be suicidal."
John stepped between them before any more blood was shed. Sherlock was even more angry than usual and he really didn't want to actually end up in a jail cell tonight. The backup had arrived and were sifting through the wreckage littered in the street, while the paramedics loaded the bleeding guard into the back of the ambulance. Other paramedics were now spread out through the street, checking out the smaller injuries for anything that needed to be treated at the hospital. Mycroft was still nowhere to be seen and neither was Lestrade, but something told Sherlock that they weren't captured. Moriarty was too… upset wasn't the right word but he was definitely having a strong emotion, one that would stop him from wanting to kidnap a prominent person in society.
Finally, Sherlock couldn't stand being outside any longer. He gripped John's shoulder and swivelled him so that he faced the house. The doctor got the message and nodded, the tiredness showing in his face. It must have been the early hours of the morning by now, and most of the guards had been moved or had left. Broken glass and bits of brick still littered the street but that wouldn't be sorted until the morning light appeared, perhaps not even then. Mrs Hudson had tottered back inside many hours ago, when the swat team had declared it safe, she would have gone to bed almost immediately afterwards.
Sherlock directed John to his bed, knowing the doctor was not going to make it to his own. The blond walked stiffly, all but pulling himself up the last few steps to the flat. As a hand on the small of his back ushered him through to the nearest room, John didn't protest. Sherlock peeled back the cover and helped his friend inside, pulling the man's shoes off but leaving the rest on. They could wait til morning. He then threw the duvet back over the doctor. After many minutes of staring, trying to work out if he would be able to make it to the sofa without collapsing in a heap, Sherlock all but fell on top of the bed covers, subconsciously shuffling several inches closer to his friend than was strictly necessary. John mumbled something but the consulting detective was too far gone to comprehend what he had said.
Morning light eventually came but neither man noticed it. Mrs Hudson pottered up the steps to see where her boys had gotten to. A letter had arrived for them that morning, very nice hand writing on the envelope. It was probably a case for them. When she got up the stairs, she found the living room was bare, as was the kitchen, so she cracked opened the bedroom door. Sherlock lay wrapped around a bundle of duvet, his long limbs curled around the mass possessively. Mrs Hudson smiled and placed the letter on the floor by the exit before closing the door again.
John's eyes flew open at the sound of a click. This wasn't his bed. A quick shuffle alerted him to the fact he had a heavy weight resting on top of him. John rolled out of the bed, landing on the floor with a crack. He groaned, rolling his wrists.
"John?" A muffled baritone voice called. The doctor sat up. Sherlock was lay on top of the covers. John pursed his lips, wondering why Sherlock went to bed. He'd slept two days ago, so he should have still been bright and bubbly. Standing up, the doctor saw that he really wasn't.
Sherlock stretched, his bones creaking as he arched his back. His head pounded, his vision blurred and something clouded his mind. He knew there was something wrong but he couldn't connect the dots, the fog inside his head was too thick to even see the pieces, never mind find relations between them. Fingers wrapped in his curls, massaging his scalp. He usually hated to be touched but this was nice, soothing. He felt the fog slip away, the pounding ease.
"Drugs." He murmured lowly. "Moriarty. Drugged."
"Hush." A quite voice answered calmly. "You're okay now."
They didn't speak of the bed incident afterwards. As for the 'prank' in general, everyone wanted to forget about that. Neither John nor Sherlock had expected Moriarty to make an appearance, why would he? It was just a Halloween joke because Lestrade had in avertedly set them a challenge. DI Lestrade had called round the day after the incident, with Mycroft in tow. The greying man tried a smile but he looked worn, as though he hadn't slept in a week. He spent ten minutes conversing with John, mainly about his time in the hospital, then he left, all but ushered out of the door by Mycroft.
Sherlock padded into his room, only to pause at the crunching sound under his feet. The detective frowned as he turned his attention to the crumpled piece of paper on the floor. He picked up the letter, opening it quickly and discarding the envelope on the floor. John would pick it up later. Moving back out of his room, Sherlock scanned the neat handwriting.
Hi Shirley, sorry I had to leave early. It was terribly rude of me, we hadn't even gotten past the small talk. We'll just have to reschedule.
See you soon. M
Sherlock took out his lighter and burnt the letter. John did not need to read that, it would only upset him. They were out of milk and John wouldn't fetch it if he was in a mood. The detective's eyes lingered on the bed, it was still messy from where the doctor had slept. He shook himself mentally, deleting the strange emotion before brushing the ashes into the bin and beginning a new experiment.
"So no more pranks?" John asked with a sigh, a few days later. Sherlock's lip quirked.
"No more pranks involving Moriarty." He amended. The detective had rather enjoyed the prank, up until the explosion, and John always looked so much younger when they did it. The blond man had smiled wildly, like a child on his birthday, when they danced across the roofs tops. John picked up the book from the table and shuffled into the sofa cushions
"Do you think he'll gatecrash again?" The doctor enquired. His flatmate nodded, joining John on the sofa by lounging over it, placing his feet on the soldier's lap.
"Most definitely. We'll just have to be ready for him." Sherlock answered, ignoring the death glare.