3. The Recording Device

The duo returned to their apartment in Baker Street. It had been a long, confusing day for both of them.
Sherlock was busy with his coat, but John could see that something bothered him.

'Is there something wrong, Sherlock?' he asked, not wanting Sherlock to be upset by anything. 'We will find Lestrade, I'm sure – '

'John, is wanting to touch the one you love part of… being in love?' he suddenly asked.

'I… what?' John stammered.

'Today, at the police station, I had the strange urge to touch you. I don't know where it came from, but it wouldn't go away.'

Sherlock seemed at a loss for what to do.

John understood, and walked up to Sherlock. He seemed really vulnerable, for once, not knowing what to do.
'It is, Sherlock. And guess what? I had that feeling, too. It's not particularly bad, is it?'

'No, it's not.'

Sherlock looked into John's eyes, and John looked back. They didn't hide anything anymore. Their love was now quite obvious.
Sherlock felt the tingling sensation again, of wanting to touch John. So he did. He felt his face, his shoulders.

John smiled encouragingly. This was one thing Sherlock didn't have any experience with.
Sherlock hesitated only one moment before leaning in and kissing John again. Their lips only touched slightly, as if Sherlock was unsure of how to do it properly. Then, as he felt John giving in completely, he relaxed, too. He pressed his lips on John's a bit more urgent, putting his right hand on the back of John's head, and the left near his jaw. Why had he never done this before? Why had he missed out on things like this for all his life?

The answer came to him almost immediately. Because he hadn't known John before. As Sherlock realised this, he gave himself up to John entirely. He pulled back slightly, just to breathe, but John, apparently, didn't want him to. Because he was shorter than Sherlock, he couldn't reach his head without looking stupid, so he just held his back. The feel of the small of Sherlock's back was already becoming familiar, like it was made for his hands, and his hands only.

Sherlock felt immensely happy at that point. John was there, beside him, kissing him, after all these months without seeing him. He smiled and started to chuckle, though John's mouth was still pressed to his, and only a muffled sound came out.
When they finally parted, they didn't move away from each other. They still stood where they had entered the apartment, looking into each other's eyes, both entirely captivated by the other. Nothing seemed to exist but them.

'We have to take a look at that recording device,' John whispered, though he didn't want to move. He could've stood there all night, his hands on Sherlock's back, staring into those blue greenish eyes that were so compelling.

'I know,' Sherlock replied in his hoarse voice. Neither of them moved.

'Sherlock, I am so… I don't even have words for it. I am glad, more than glad, that you aren't… dead. I'm so happy I have you, here, and though it all happened so fast since earlier today, it couldn't have been more perfect.' John said this all in one breath, as if he'd rather get it over with as quickly as possible.

'John…' Sherlock's voice actually broke. 'I am, too. I have never felt anything like this for anyone else before, but I'm glad I have it right now, with you. Why did it take me faking my own death to realise it?'

'I don't know, but now, I'm actually grateful for it. Without it, we would probably never had this – this… relationship, this connection.'

Sherlock smiled. 'So this is what this is. A relationship.'

John looked at his feet. 'Well, if you don't want it to…' He was trying to hide how he felt about the possibility that Sherlock might not want to be in a relationship.

'What are you saying, John? I have just… kissed you, and you're thinking I don't want a relationship?' Sherlock chuckled for real now, hugging John and resting his head on John's hair.

'You're my John. Don't think that, even for one second, I don't want to be in a relationship with you.' Sherlock looked at John with a worried look on his face and John could tell he meant what he said. The doctor felt incredibly happy and smiled at his… boyfriend? It sounded weird in his head, but it felt right. It felt so right.

He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and whispered, 'We have to start working on this case.'

Sherlock nodded and quickly pressed his lips against John's forehead before walking into the living room. John noticed a slight spring in his step, he was glad to see Sherlock all excited about his case, even though it meant Lestrade was in possible danger. The consulting detective took the recording device out of his pocket and to John's surprise he simply put it in one of the drawers of his desk. 'We'll listen to it later,' he explained. 'Come on!'

The taller man, still wearing his coat, turned around and shot John a cheerful look. John hurried after him as he left the flat. Sherlock walked faster than he did, and John had trouble keeping up with him. 'Sherlock, where are we going?' he asked, but the detective didn't answer him. Instead he called out 'TAXI!' as a black cab passed by. It pulled over right away. 'Scotland Yard,' Sherlock told the cabbie as he got in the car. John hesitated for a few seconds but sat down next to Sherlock anyway.

'Why are we going to Scotland Yard?' John asked his friend. John hated it when Sherlock knew something, or had an idea, and didn't tell him. Sherlock still kept his mouth shut, and looked out the window. John knew that he was thinking about something that had to do with the case. John sighed and looked away from Sherlock. They drove past the Houses of Parliament without saying anything. John's thoughts drifted off again. The man sitting next to him so quietly made him feel warm inside. Even when Sherlock didn't say anything at all, he was still so present. John wished he wouldn't be ignored, though. All of a sudden he felt Sherlock's warm breath in his neck. The doctor turned his head and faced the most beautiful eyes in the world. 'I can't think straight,' Sherlock whispered, 'Not with you sitting next to me.'

Before John knew what was happening Sherlock's lips touched his again. The warm feeling of Sherlock's skin spread through his entire body and John chuckled. 'You can't just…' he muttered.

'Yes I can.'

'We are in a cab!'

Sherlock pulled away and opened his eyes. 'I know,' he replied with a grin on his face. John felt his cheeks turn red again, and let out a nervous giggle. The cabbie coughed and said briskly; 'Here we are sir, Scotland Yard.'

'What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?' John asked him as they walked through the long halls of Scotland Yard.

'We're here to see Caroline,' Sherlock finally explained, 'She obviously has something to do with all this. I'd like to know what.'

John, still rushing after his friend, didn't understand. 'And what is she going to tell us, Sherlock? You said so yourself; the questioning isn't going to give us any answers!'

'You never know,' Sherlock replied, 'She may be a born liar, but liar's make mistakes as well. She'll tell us something.'

'Why can't anyone else interview her?'

'Because they won't notice her mistakes, obviously.'

'Hmm…' John just sighed. He had to admit, Sherlock was probably the only one in the world who actually would notice them.

'So, Caroline, you were in detective inspector Greg Lestrade's house.'

Sherlock and John sat opposite Caroline, who was now wearing simple business clothing. She sat leaning backwards, seemingly comfortable and relaxed.

Sherlock studied her with his sharp eyes. He didn't like not being able to deduce just by looking at someone. Her looks told him nothing, nothing special.

Hair, make up, clothing, all perfect, but wasn't that the case with most young women these days?

'I was. Your friend caught me in his bedroom. I can't deny that,' she said coolly.
John frowned. He had found her in Lestrade's bed, just staring at the wall, as if she was waiting for them to show up.

'Do you confirm you had a – ah… romantic date with him?' Sherlock wanted to know.
John knew Sherlock already knew these things, but wanted an answer from her. He paid close attention to her, as well, to try and observe what Sherlock always observed.

'I can't say it was romantic,' she stated with a smile. 'I met him in a Starbucks shop, and we seemed to get along well, so I asked whether he had anything to do that evening.'

Sherlock waited for her to say more, but apparently she wasn't about to.

'So that evening, you went to Lestrade's house, after exchanging mobile phone numbers and addresses, or, more likely, one address, and you brought wine with you.'

Caroline kept her face steady, although Sherlock thought he saw her mouth twitch. 'What makes you think I brought wine with me?'

'Because Lestrade doesn't drink wine, and we found wine stains on the coffee table, the same table under which we found the recording device you couldn't identify. I found that very interesting, because you seemed to study it a bit too long for my liking. So I'll ask you again: do you know anything about Lestrade's disappearance?'

The whole time, Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off Caroline. John hadn't seen him blink, either. He hardly blinked when they looked in each other's eyes, John recalled, but that was a nice stare. The look on Sherlock's face as he stared at Caroline was nowhere near nice – it was ice cold.

'I don't know any more than you do.' Caroline sighed. 'Three men came in, knocked him out and dragged him away.'

That's no motive, Sherlock thought. She must be holding something back. Suddenly, his eyes went wide open. Three men?

'Thank you, Caroline, we're done for today. I trust we can speak to you whenever we like?'

'Of course, Mr Holmes, any time,' Caroline said, smiling insincerely.

'Come, John,' Sherlock as he got up from his chair. John did as he was told, he didn't want to be a second longer in that room with
Caroline. She unnerved him, set his teeth on edge.

'What was that all about?' John asked as they walked through the long hallways of Scotland Yard once more. 'We were only in there for about five minutes, how could you have - '

'Houston, we have a mistake,' Sherlock announced, almost knocking the door out of its hinges when he threw it open. 'I knew she would,' he muttered softly to himself. 'They always make mistakes, overestimate themselves, underestimate me…'

'A mistake?' John called out to Sherlock. Sherlock hadn't realised he had walked so fast; John was a few steps behind.

'A mistake?' John repeated as he ran up to Sherlock when he paused for a moment.

'Do you remember what she said, exactly? Think, John.' Sherlock put his hands on John's shoulders, staring at him again with his penetrating look.

'Sherlock, we're outside, there's people around us – ' John began, looking around nervously.

'I'm not kissing you, am I?' Sherlock demanded. 'Now think! What mistake did she make?'

'I don't know, she said that Lestrade was taken… taken away by… three men…' Realisation hit John as he spoke. 'Three men! How did she know? This is proof! Sherlock, we've got to get back, tell Donovan and Anderson…'

Sherlock snorted. 'They won't believe us. Besides, it's not proof – yet. It might mean Caroline is "innocent", or as innocent as she will ever be, got away when those men entered the house and hid in the bedroom. It might mean she was indeed involved in Lestrade's abduction, that she held him where he was, extracting information from him, until the men arrived.'

'Then we have to figure out what kind of information.' John still felt uncomfortable with Sherlock holding him like that out in the open, but at the same time, loved how warm his hands were, the force with which they grabbed his shoulders. He could hardly keep himself from shivering delightedly.

Then, Sherlock let go. He raised up to his full height, after bending over to get hold of John's shoulders. It was impressive.
'Then we will,' he said with a grin on his face, turning towards the street and signalling a cab, with his magnificent voice booming: 'TAXI!'

'It's late.'

'I know.'

Sherlock and John sat on the sofa together, sort of snuggling, but not quite. They were both tired. That day, John found his best friend still alive, they both realised they were more than friends, and one of their friends had gone missing. They had gone to Scotland Yard twice already, and on top of that, visited Lestrade's house, where they found a little device and a mysterious woman.

John started to get up, but Sherlock pulled him down, keeping him tight, next to him. John laughed.
'I was only going to get your laptop and the recording device,' he teased. Sherlock made a face.

'Be quick. I'm cold, and you're warm.'

John's heart seemed to leap. He liked Sherlock like this, making sweet comments. It was different, but not less perfect. If anything, it was even more perfect.

John hurried back to Sherlock's inviting open arms, grabbing his long coat as he went.

'I'm cold, too,' he said as he put the makeshift blanket over both of them. He settled down and put his head on Sherlock's shoulder, almost drifting off before remembering the laptop next to him. He picked it up and pressed the 'on' button.
As they waited for the laptop to start, Sherlock put his hand on John's hair and started stroking it, just to do something with his hands. He knew it gave John goose bumps – his eyes never missed anything – but he particularly enjoyed that part, of being able to get a response from him in the first place.

'Give it to me,' he said as the screen finally stopped loading. It was not a slow laptop, though they both wished at that moment that it was.
Keeping his left hand near John's face, he was able to connect the little device to his laptop, selecting everything with one hand.

John snuggled closer, with the excuse of being able to see the screen a bit better, but Sherlock obviously knew they were going to listen anyway, but he didn't mind. He meant it when he said John was warm. Not only his body, but his presence, as well.

'You ready?' Sherlock asked, glancing at the top of John's head that was resting on his chest.

'Hmmm…' was John's only answer. He was far more interested in other things at the moment, but still curious about the little machine. What was it that was so important to Caroline – if their suspicion was true?

Sherlock clicked the 'play' button and leaned back, nonchalantly resting his head on John's, which now rested partly on Sherlock's shoulder, and partly on the sofa.

John took a deep breath when he felt the soft, dark brown curls touching his right temple, but pretended not to be affected by it.
They both jumped at the sound of a doorbell ringing – they were so caught up within each other. John looked angrily at the door, started to get up, but Sherlock pulled him down once more.

'It's been recorded,' he whispered, pointing at the laptop. 'The doorbell was Lestrade's, so the device must have been placed earlier.'

John felt a bit foolish, but immediately forgot about it when he felt Sherlock's expectant breathing very close to his face.
There were some muffled sounds coming from the laptop, because Lestrade and Caroline were still in the hallway. Their voices grew louder and louder as they got closer to the living room.

John stole a glance at Sherlock again, wanting to see his face, trying to put pieces together already. He was indeed frowning, trying to hear what they said, but it wasn't close enough to the recorder yet.

John smiled to himself at the sight of Sherlock's concentrated face, but turned his attention back to the laptop.

'Nice house,' they heard Caroline say. 'I must say I didn't expect anything like this when I met you this morning. Where can I leave my bag?'

'You can put it on the coffee table, if you like. Do you want something to drink?' It was obviously Lestrade's voice. They heard footsteps, and Lestrade's voice grew weaker once more, but not impossible to hear.

'Kitchen,' Sherlock whispered.

'What?' John rambled, distracted by Sherlock's breath blowing past his ear.

'Lestrade's in the kitchen. The footsteps, it was definitely on a tiled floor.' Sherlock obviously hadn't realised what reaction he just got from John.

'What do you want to drink?' they heard Lestrade call from the kitchen.

'I've got my own wine, would you like some?' Caroline replied.

'I don't drink wine. You can have it, if you want. I do have some wine glasses,' Lestrade told her.

'You don't drink wine, but you do have wine glasses?' Caroline laughed. It was a charming laugh, and John would probably have felt attracted to it – but that was before he felt attracted to Sherlock, whose laugh was far more pleasant.

'My ex-wife used to drink wine.' Lestrade entered the living room again. They heard a pling and they knew he brought a wine glass.

'She never drank from it,' Sherlock murmured. He hit the 'pause' button and shifted his position a bit, so he could look at John.

'How do you know that?' John asked.

'The wine stain, on the coffee table, it was red enough and big enough for a full glass. I think there might have been some kind of poison in there, otherwise, she would have drank from it, don't you think? We need to get back to Lestrade's house…' Sherlock was talking fast.

'Let's finish this recording first, Sherlock, then we can decide whether we'll go back to the other side of London for the third time this day. The coffee table won't run away.'

Sherlock looked at John with big eyes, trying to convince him, then finally, admitting John made sense, kissed him on the cheek, whispering softly in his ear. 'You are finally learning, doctor.'

John flushed immediately, grinned with delight, and turned to look at Sherlock's face, his gaze all focused on him. Sherlock was breathing rather heavily, his right hand floating in mid-air, trying to keep himself from touching John's cheek. Didn't they have something to do…?

John extended his arm and got hold of Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock jerked back a little, startled by the little shock John still gave him when he touched him.

John took Sherlock's hand and put his right hand on Sherlock's neck. Because they were sitting on the sofa, he wasn't that much shorter, and he could reach Sherlock's soft curls with ease.

John pulled Sherlock closer to him, who was breathing heavier and heavier, but he didn't seem nervous, he seemed almost – hopeful. Eager.

Their noses touched before their lips did. Sherlock tilted his head a little to the right, so their kiss would not be interrupted by another part of their faces.
Sherlock jerked his hand out of John's, and placed it on his cheek instead. They lost themselves in the moment completely, not knowing how much time passed by, not caring to know how long they sat there, holding each other, snuggled up together under Sherlock's warm coat.

As they progressed, Sherlock became a little too enthusiastic and accidentally pushed John on his back. Because he was practically leaning on him, he fell with him, too, and soon, they were laughing again.
John felt Sherlock's chest go up and down with every breath he took, and he wished the moment would never end.
'I think we knocked the laptop on the floor,' John said, while Sherlock muttered: 'my laptop's fallen.'
They looked at each other and started laughing again. Sherlock took a deep breath and got up, reaching for his laptop.

The computer still seemed to be in a fine condition, and Sherlock put it back on his lap. John snuggled closer to him and gave him a quick kiss before resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder once more. Sherlock put his arm around his friend and pressed 'play'.

Sherlock and John heard Caroline laugh again. Lestrade told her his, according to Sherlock, boring divorce story. Caroline laughed at every joke, no matter how dull or inappropriate they were.

'She plays her part really well,' Sherlock noted, completely fascinated by the conversation. He hugged John a little tighter, not entirely unaware of how much John was pleased by this.

'I'm sorry,' they heard Caroline say, 'Do you mind?'

There was a loud thud and they heard Greg chuckle. Sherlock and John had never heard him made such a nervous sound.

'She just put her feet on the coffee table,' John said, not completely sure of himself. Sherlock didn't answer him, but the smile on his face told John that he was right.

Their conversation continued, but neither John nor Sherlock noticed anything interesting enough. Suddenly the doorbell rang for a second time. They heard Lestrade get up and walk towards the front door.

'This is it! This is it!' Sherlock muttered excited.

They heard Greg open the door. 'Good evening, gentlemen. Can I help you?'

No one answered him. Instead John and Sherlock heard Greg grunt in the distance and yell something similar to 'Jesus, let me go!'

His call for help was answered by Caroline's high heels who clearly walked towards the scene. The sounds came closer now, as if the men at the door dragged a struggling Lestrade back into his living room.

'Well, well, Mr Lestrade,' Caroline's voice said, 'Those scratches look good on you. Makes you look a bit tougher.'

'What's this all about?' Lestrade asked. His voice had gone all high and squeaky, it was clear that he was afraid.

'This is all about a certain Sherlock Holmes,' a man's voice replied.

'Sherlock Holmes is dead!' Lestrade called out, definitely panicking now.

'Or so you believe,' another man said.

'No, no, he's dead!' Greg repeated.

'Shut up!' A third man yelled. His order was followed by a low thud and moans of pain coming from Lestrade's mouth.

'Let's get him out of he – ' the second man never got the chance to finish his sentence.

'Silence!' The first man said, trying to keep his voice down, 'Someone's coming! Come on, quickly!'

This time the second man spoke again; 'Wait, we have to get the recording devi – '

'There's no time,' the first man said, 'Hurry!'

Sherlock and John heard the three men stumble out of the living room, dragging something along the carpet.

'Greg's been knocked out. They're dragging his body away,' Sherlock muttered.

The duo heard Lestrade's front door close and for a few moments everything remained quiet. Then, they heard footsteps coming into Greg's living room. The stranger simply walked around, there were no sounds that indicated that he did anything else.

Sherlock pressed the 'pause' button for a second time. 'I've heard enough,' he said.

'How do you mean?' John asked, 'What do you know? Where did they take him? Poor Greg…'

Sherlock all of a sudden jumped up, a move that nearly made John fall of the couch because he'd been leaning on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock started pacing the flat and started talking faster than ever before. John had to listen extra hard to understand what he was saying.

'Like I said before, Caroline was only the puppet. And so were those three men. They were sent to Greg's house to fetch him. Why? Because of me. The 'master' knew that I was alive, and they knew that, by abducting Greg, I would show myself. It is no longer a secret that I am not dead. The papers will probably be full of the 'news' tomorrow. The question is, who knew that I wasn't dead?'

'You didn't tell me anything we couldn't have known without listening to the fragment,' John said, knowing that Sherlock probably wasn't finished.

'Caroline!' Sherlock exclaimed, 'She was still in the house when we arrived this morning, however we just heard her leave alongside the three men. I bet that if we would listen any longer, she'd come back.'

'And who's the person they ran away from?'

'Good question John. The man in the house, was – '

'A man? How can you be sure it was a man?'

'Remember this morning when Caroline said that 'he told her we might show up'?'

Sherlock walked back to John and sat down on the sofa again. He hit the 'play' button on the laptop and the fragment continued.

It took a few minutes before the doorbell rang. The stranger walked away and came back only seconds later, followed by the sounds of high heels.

'They are so thick,' they heard Caroline say as the followed the man back into the living room.

'No thicker than you are,' a cold voice replied.

'At least I came back. I realised it was you we heard.'

'I needed you to come back anyway. You have to stay here until morning.'

'What? Why?' Caroline all of a sudden sounded afraid.

'He will come next morning; Sherlock Holmes,' the unknown voice answered, 'He won't be alone. He will bring his loyal doctor Watson and possibly a few police men. Anderson, Donovan, Jones…' The man described all the people he mentioned. 'I need you to wait here.'

'Why?' Caroline asked again.

'Because I say so!'

The man with the cold voice walked away and the front door closed behind him. Caroline was alone. Sherlock and John heard her sigh, and she too left the living room and went upstairs.

'There you go,' Sherlock said, 'Exactly what I expected.'

'This man, sounded like her boss. Do you think he's our villain?' John asked curiously.

'No, of course not. The villain isn't in the picture, yet.'

'How do you know?'

'This device was left behind for some reason. Someone else was meant to listen to the recording later today. That person is our villain.'

John looked at the clock that hang on the wall above Sherlock's desk. Half past two. 'God,' he moaned as fatigue settled over him like a lead weight. His head hurt and he couldn't take all the information in at once. 'Sherlock, I'm so …'

'Tired. Yes, John, me too. We'll continue tomorrow morning,' Sherlock said as he put his laptop away. He smiled a weak smile as if he meant to say everything would be okay. 'Come here,' he whispered and John snuggled even closer. Sherlock hugged his friend tight against him and rested his own head on his friend's hair. He felt John's warm breath in his neck and got goose bumps all over his arms. Sherlock kissed John on the head and John muttered something Sherlock didn't quite catch. It didn't matter what the doctor said though, for it had sounded satisfied.

They sat there for what seemed like hours when Sherlock eventually heard soft snores coming from John. He smiled and closed his own eyes.

4. Suspicions

John woke up to the sound of Sherlock playing the violin. It wasn't the same melody as the one he'd played the day before. This one was cheerful and much faster, a melody different from any Sherlock had ever composed. John found that he was still on the sofa, Sherlock's coat wrapped around him.

He got up quickly, but, remembering everything from the night before, closed his eyes again. There was so much information, just from a recording device.

'Ah, you're awake,' Sherlock noticed, and he stopped playing immediately. He smiled, looking at his coat which John had slept in.

'Sorry,' John mumbled. 'I must have been really tired.'

'You were,' Sherlock whispered, remembering the evening before, when John had started snoring in his arms. In his arms. Sherlock couldn't quite believe it, yet, that he and John were together. Really together, now.

'You're composing again?' John asked as he put Sherlock's coat where it usually was. He walked over to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast, but Sherlock blocked his way.

'Yes,' he answered softly, his beautiful eyes gleaming. 'I've got some inspiration, thanks to recent events.'
John frowned. 'You compose a happy song because Lestrade's gone missing?'

Sherlock chuckled. 'No, you idiot, because of this…'

He took a step closer to John, put an arm around his neck, pulled him tighter to his body, brought his face closer to John's. With his eyes almost closed, he whispered, 'You can be so ignorant sometimes…'

Their faces were less than an inch apart, and John could feel Sherlock's heavy breathing against his skin. It left a pleasant tingle.
Smiling, John put his arms around Sherlock's back, again, feeling defining features of his body.

Feeling John's hands on his back, he pressed himself even tighter to John, giving in to his feelings. After a deep, content sigh, he pressed his lips to John's, grabbing him a bit tighter. His lips parted slightly, and John could feel that his breathing went faster and faster.

'Any news on the case?' John murmured before kissing Sherlock again, trying to reach the back of his head.

'Perhaps if I hadn't been staring at you, on the sofa underneath my coat all morning. I couldn't take my eyes off you,' Sherlock muttered back, running a hand through John's hair.

They rested for a while, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, in each other's arms. They both grinned, delighted with the other.

'So the 'master', as you call him, wants information on how you survived…' John couldn't help feeling a bit protective of Sherlock, pulling him as close him as possible.

Sherlock nodded. 'But, who is he? How does he know I survived? No one knows but you and Mycroft, and now, obviously, the entire police station… I haven't even told Mrs Hudson yet…'

John's eyes flew open. 'Mrs Hudson!' he whispered.

Just then, the door went open, and they heard Mrs Hudson stop talking in the middle of a sentence, gasping, and they turned to
look.

She was staring at Sherlock, holding John, then, with an almost comical 'O, dear', she fainted.

Sherlock foresaw it, and was there just before she hit the ground. 'John, you have to help me get her up on the sofa. I think I was a bit of a nasty shock for her.'

'Quoting Mycroft, now, are we?' John sniggered, as he came forward and helped Mrs Hudson on the sofa.
John went to the kitchen to finally get that breakfast going, and to make Mrs Hudson some calming tea, as Sherlock sat on his favourite chair, staring into space.

'What should I tell her?' Sherlock wondered.

'She doesn't know anything about Moriarty, does she? You can't tell her what happened on that roof.'
Sherlock shook his head. 'I guess I just have to tell her what I told Anderson and friends…'
John nodded.

Mrs Hudson was coming around. John looked at her worriedly, but, with his doctor's eye, seeing there was nothing wrong with her.

'Oh, John! I just had the weirdest dream… Sherlock was alive – ' Mrs Hudson tried to get up, but John pushed her down again.

'Easy, Mrs Hudson. And, erm… I don't think it was a dream…' he nodded to his left, to where Sherlock sat, playing with the strings of his violin.

Mrs Hudson gasped. 'What – how…?' she asked, confused.

'I should explain. Forgive me, Mrs Hudson, but I had to convince you – and John, and the entire world – I was dead. The fate of London, and perhaps all of Britain, depended on it. I have a lot of enemies, you see, none of them powerless…'

'You always seem to surprise me, Sherlock. I wasn't really that surprised you're still alive, but I saw you two – if I recall properly – together, ahm…' Mrs Hudson was never really embarrassed about what she said, but couldn't quite find the words for it this time.

John blushed. Sherlock knew he would, and he looked at John because he loved his cheeks turning pink every time he was embarrassed.

'It's fine, Mrs Hudson. John and I are…' Sherlock, too, was at a loss for words. But Mrs Hudson just nodded.

'You must know, it has crossed my mind before. Do you remember I told you we had another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two?' Mrs Hudson was rambling again, in that characteristic way of hers. John smiled, even though he still felt a little uncomfortable.

'We still use two bedrooms,' he defended himself. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Have you heard about Lestrade?' John changed the subject as fast as possible, and Sherlock couldn't suppress a chuckle.

'No, what about him?' Mrs Hudson's caring, motherly side was immediately visible.

'He's missing,' John explained. He told Mrs Hudson about the case and the progress they had made so far.

'Dear, that is terrible,' Mrs Hudson sighed. 'At least we've got the best consulting detective and the best doctor in London on it.'

Sherlock grinned. He had missed Mrs Hudson almost as much as he had missed John, but for totally different reasons, of course.

'Are you feeling better?' John asked, concerned. Mrs Hudson nodded, staggering a bit when she got up, but walked with steady steps toward the kitchen, getting some more tea.

John took the chance to look at Sherlock once more, who was staring at his feet, or so it seemed to John.

Sherlock was trying to put all the pieces together, but there were a few missing. At least we now have proof to keep Caroline locked up, he thought. She was definitely in on the abduction. And there had been at least 5 men in on it, too. The three men who knocked out Lestrade, the stranger that came in afterwards and told Caroline to go to the bedroom, and the master. But who were the last two? And was the master supposed to collect the device for himself? Why didn't the stranger do it, in the first place? The master probably didn't want anyone to mess with it, he thought.

The master… Who was he? He probably trusts no one but himself, he has a lot of power, and wants information on me. He has done things like this before, and he knows Lestrade is connected to me in some way.

Who could that be?

Sherlock's eyes went wide-open. It couldn't be. He shot himself, he was dead. Sherlock saw it, himself, and his senses never lied to him.

It all fits, he said to himself. He has done this before – keeping as much distance between the victims and even his "business partners".

I'll think about this later, Sherlock thought. I need time to get my head around this case – I do actually care about Lestrade. Caring won't help him. Not immediately.

John noticed Sherlock's distress. He decided not to ask him about it, for that would only make him an unbearable roommate, John remembered from previous mistakes he'd made. I wonder whether he would become an unbearable… boyfriend… as well, John thought.

Mrs Hudson left the two alone, knowing they were still in the beginning of their relationship, and not wanting to disturb them. She smiled to herself; she had known it from the first time she saw them together.

'John… there is something that bothers me, about the master.' Sherlock was fumbling with his violin, looking nervous.

'What is it?' John asked, immediately sensing something was very wrong. Concerned, he got up and walked towards Sherlock, kneeling slightly, so they were at the same eye level.

'I've been thinking.'

'Of course you have,' John said. He touched Sherlock's hand lightly, to stop him from possibly ruining his violin. Sherlock took a deep breath and took John's hand.

'The master, his way of action. It's… familiar. I think I know him,' Sherlock said. 'But it's only a suspicion, I cannot tell for sure.'

'Well, that's great, isn't it? I didn't think we'd be able to solve this case so fast, but I should've known you were too eager to –'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Moriarty,' he whispered.

John stared at him, shocked.

'No, he's dead, Moriarty's dead, he shot himself, you said you saw it –' John clasped both Sherlock's hands. It couldn't be, it was impossible…

'I did see it. But I didn't check for a bullet hole through the back of his head,' Sherlock snapped irritably.

'Of course you didn't…' John shivered at the thought.
Sherlock's expression softened again. He could tell John was afraid.

'Look, John, it is only a suspicion, I may not be right, but we must entertain the possibility that I am.' Sherlock took a deep breath. He didn't want to admit it, but he was just as scared as John. The fact that Moriarty might still be alive… He shuddered.

John was scared himself, but he wanted to comfort Sherlock. It was his arch enemy. He faked his own death in order to stop him, and it might not have worked.

John took Sherlock's face in his hands, staring in his vivid blue green eyes, which only contained a hint of fear, but John knew how Sherlock normally looked. This wasn't normal.

'I want you to listen to me, Sherlock. I want you to look in my eyes and believe what I say to you.'
Sherlock looked at him. He lifted his own hands to grab John's wrists, but made no move to remove them from his cheeks.

'We don't know whether this is really all Moriarty's doing, but if it is, I am not going to leave you. I will support you, I will have your back. I will do anything for you, I am not going to lose you again.' John hesitated only a moment before saying his next words. 'I love you, Sherlock.'

'John, I…' Sherlock smiled. 'I love you, too, I think. I've never loved anyone like that, so I'm not sure, but I think I love you.' He frowned, thinking about the other words John had said. Somehow, they had made him feel less scared about Moriarty.

'I know you won't leave me.' He stood up from the chair, put his arms around John and closed his eyes. 'But thanks anyway.'
He pulled back a little, gave John a small kiss and let go.

'We can't be sure who the master is if we don't work on this case,' he said. 'We're going to Lestrade's house, first, to get that wine sample and Caroline's bag. Then, we will –'

'Hang on, Caroline's bag? Who said anything about a bag?' John interrupted.

'She did. "Where can I put my bag"? It's what she asked Lestrade on the recording. It might still be there, for I saw no bag with her when we took her to the police station. Which brings me to my second point; if we find anything in that wine, or her bag, we have double proof she is part of all this. We will go to Scotland Yard and talk to her.'

'Again?' John wasn't looking forward to it.

'We will have to. Now, get your coat and we'll go.'

As they walked up Lestrade's front porch, Sherlock got a key from his pocket. He twirled it in the air before they reached the door. With it, he opened the door.

'Pick-pocketing,' Sherlock explained before John could even open his mouth.

John rolled his eyes. Of course, he thought.

They walked through the hallway, which was decorated with paintings of coffee cups and Starbucks souvenirs.
Sherlock walked straight to the coffee table, which hadn't been cleaned. He kneeled beside it, examined the wine stain once more, smelled it, felt it, then, finally, broke a piece of wood off the coffee table and put it in an evidence bag.

'Lestrade won't like that,' John muttered.

'Who cares,' Sherlock replied. John shrugged.

'Okay, now let's find that bag… It's not still on the coffee table, so Caroline must have hid it… Let's go to the bedroom.'
John giggled nervously at the last comment, but Sherlock hadn't realised what he'd said. He was too caught up in the case.

'It must have been important, because it is not on the table anymore. If there wasn't anything in there that would prove their guilt, it would still be where she left it.' Sherlock was talking fast, deducing as he went.

They climbed the stairs, and went in the tiny bedroom directly opposite them. Both started to look in different directions, for an unknown handbag. They didn't know what it looked like, only that it must be something expensive, considering Caroline's clothes, and that it must be big enough for a wine bottle.

After searching for over thirty minutes, Sherlock found a leather bag propped up against the wall in a cupboard. Satisfied, and with a smirk on his face, Sherlock reached in and grabbed it by its handle. It felt quite heavy, and he realised the wine bottle must still be in there.

'John, I've found it,' Sherlock said, as he opened the bag. John just turned around, another bag in his hands.

'Oh, shit,' Sherlock swore. 'She is good…'

'We're lucky we found them at the same time.'

'What do you mean?'

They were in the lab, and Sherlock was looking through the microscope at the sample of wine they took from the coffee table.

'Well, she obviously wants to lead us to the wrong direction. If we had found one bag, we wouldn't have bothered searching for another. Now, we have two. We'll just go through everything in there, even if it takes all night.'

John sighed. He was arranging everything that was in the bags and put them on the table. Most of it was plain stuff; wallet, phone, even multiple nightgowns.

'Sherlock…' John mused. 'Do you have any idea why she brought multiple nightgowns? She could have done with one, the one she was wearing. It was as if she knew she'd have to stay at his house.'

'I think that it's always there; maybe she had multiple men to go to, as well. She has that bag packed in advance, so she won't run out of anything. Hmmm… this is odd,' Sherlock murmured.

'What is?' John asked curiously.

'This is just normal wine. There is nothing in it, nor in the bottle. Then why didn't she drink from it?' Sherlock closed his eyes, focusing one the case.

John fished out the last thing from the second bag. It was a bottle – a little bottle, with some kind of substance in it. It was unlabelled.

'What have you got there?' Sherlock asked suddenly. He stood up and grabbed the bottle with his right hand.

'Ah… so she was trying to drug Lestrade… But why like this? Why not put it in the bottle?' Sherlock was frowning, trying desperately to figure it all out.

'What is it?'

'I recognise it, I don't need to look at it through the microscope to know for sure. It's a drug used to sedate, only for a few minutes, depending on the dose, of course. But he didn't drink wine… He drank beer from a can, so she couldn't have put the drug in. The struggle wasn't even supposed to happen.'

'But it did happen. And why didn't she just put the drug in the bottle, then?' John was frowning as well, for it didn't seem to make perfect sense.

'There can be multiple reasons. She could have taken every precaution necessary, by not alarming Lestrade with an already open bottle. That would have been suspicious. Maybe she intended to drink it herself, though it is a mystery to me why she didn't. I measured the quantities of the stain, it couldn't have been less than a full glass. Perhaps they didn't have time, but on the recording, they were talking for quite a while before the men came in.'

'But why was the bottle in her bag? Was she trying to hide it?' Subconsciously, John moved closer to Sherlock.

'I think she just put it back in her bag when she filled her glass. There was a special stopper on it, so it wouldn't leak. She knew she would be carrying it back, then.' Sherlock was not at all oblivious to the fact John's arm brushed his.

'We'll examine it later. Now, we have to get to Scotland Yard; it's getting late already,' Sherlock sighed, straightening his jacket. He took John's hand and pulled him up, too, and they started to collect their things.

They took another cab to Scotland Yard, but because they started from St. Bart's hospital, it was a shorter ride than usual.
They were sitting side by side, as close to each other as possible, and John rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, while Sherlock was stroking his hair again. It had become a bit of a habit.

When they got to Scotland Yard, they let go reluctantly, but gave each other a knowing look.

They strode through the long halls of Scotland Yard once more, looking for Donovan. When they found her, Sherlock asked whether he would be able to talk to Caroline again. John knew he would anyway, but asked just for the formalities.

'I'm afraid that won't be possible, freak. Anderson and I let her go.'

'You did what?' Sherlock exclaimed. 'We have evidence she was in on this, we know she was, and you let her go?'

'Sherlock, let's just leave, now. What's done, is done.' John touched Sherlock's back lightly, and turned him towards the door.

Sherlock shot Donovan one last menacing look before walking away with long strides.

'I can't believe it, they are so stupid… They had no reason to let her go like that,' he mumbled angrily.

'They didn't, Sherlock, you're right, but they had no right to keep her locked up like that. She wasn't of any use to them. And besides, if she is determined to find out who you really are and why you're still alive, she'll stick around. I'm sure this won't be the last we see of her.'

Sherlock turned to look at the shorter man.

'Have I told you already you're finally learning?'