John was shocked for a second at what he was seeing. The writing was just like the phrase "GET SHERLOCK" that Moriarty had once written on the case housing the crown jewels. But this was for him. What could it possibly mean? One thing it meant was that Moriarty was back.

"Whoever wrote this came into the station last night and managed to get in and out undetected. No one saw the intruder, there is no record of them on video, and they set off none of the alarms" said Lestrade.

"Moriarty" John almost whispered the name as he still stared at the picture. It never occurred to him that Moriarty would come back. Moriarty had tried to kill him before but that was to get to Sherlock. What purpose would Moriarty have for killing John now, years after Sherlock died? But of course it occurred to John that Moriarty didn't need a reason for anything that he did; the man was insane. He did whatever suited him.

"That's my theory."

"But it's not everyone's theory," John said, finally looking away from the phone to Lestrade's face.

Lestrade looked down. "No, its not."

Of coarse not. No one suspected Moriarty because they believed that he had never existed. "Everyone else suspects that its a prank of some sort. They're concerned about the security risk this poses, but they do not know who could have done it."

John gave a little laugh but it held no humor "Of coarse they don't"

"John, listen," Lestrade said looking straight at John with fieriness in his words. "I am taking this seriously. No matter what the others think I believe that this is Moriarty." He paused before continuing. "I believed in Sherlock. I saw him work for years and I know he wasn't a fraud. No matter what the papers say, no matter what the others say at the station, I never believed that he was a criminal. And I know Moriarty is real."

John's heart was heavy. It felt like a solid rock sat in his chest. He had not had any contact with anyone in the police force since Sherlock died. He knew what they thought, that they believed that Sherlock was a fraud, that he'd made up all the crimes, that he was a psychopath. And John couldn't stand it. Sherlock had worked with them for years and they had turned on him in a moment. They'd known Sherlock for longer than John did and still years of knowing him hadn't been enough to banish the doubt that Moriarty had planted in their minds. But John knew that Lestrade was different. That he didn't believe that nonsense, but John couldn't help feeling that there was more he could have done to stand up for Sherlock in the end. John had been right to stay away. The heaviness was so overwhelming that he wasn't sure he could breathe.

But there was something else, something burning the heaviness away, replacing it with strength. It was the desire for revenge. John was taken back by this realization. He'd never really thought much about Moriarty after Sherlock's death. Sherlock's absence had consumed him but revenge had never entered his mind. Now that it had he realized that he was hungry for it. Maybe it was foolish to think he might be able to avenge Sherlock's death, but if nothing else, maybe he could prove Moriarty was real and therefore prove that Sherlock had been right all along. And Moriarty obviously wanted something from John; if he had just wanted John dead he had no doubt that he would be dead.

Mrs. Hudson came from the kitchen then to investigate. She was surprised to see Lestrade but smiled at him. "Long time no see. How are you?"

Lestrade smiled "I'm good. And yourself?"

"I'm doing alright. What brings you here?" She looked puzzled; she knew that it was not normal for him to be here, that something must be up.

Lestrade was about to answer, when John interrupted "Greg, just came by to see if I could maybe help with a puzzling case." He didn't want Mrs. Hudson to know that he could possibly be in danger, that Moriarty was back and that his interest was, for some reason, focused on John. She'd only worry.

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked.

Mrs. Hudson still looked unsettled. She probably thought it might not be good for John to get involved in solving crimes again, something he had only done with Sherlock. But she said nothing and just looked at John for his answer.

"Yes," John answered. "I won't be long Mrs. Hudson."

"Alright, dear. Have...fun?" She said it like a question, like she wasn't sure what to say. He could only imagine what she would be feeling if she knew the truth.


John was restless on the drive over to the station. As Lestrade drove John couldn't help fidgeting; he seemed to suddenly have an immense amount of energy; something he hadn't had in years.

"Did Moriarty leave any other clues?"

"No. We searched all over but we couldn't even find any traces that anyone been there except for the message."

John was sure that Sherlock could have found traces that someone had been there. If only he was here, he'd have had this case solved already. John stopped his thoughts right there; he wouldn't allow himself to think that way. Sherlock wasn't here and he wouldn't be able to help. It was up to John to figure out what he could about this. He was no detective like Sherlock was but maybe something he had learned from Sherlock could help him piece something together.

When he got to the station it felt weird. How many times had he been here with Sherlock and there had been nothing strange about it? But now he was a stranger to those who had never known him. And to the ones who had known him, he was the best friend to the crazy criminal Sherlock Holmes. He felt out of place and he knew some were staring. He passed Sergeant Donovan. The sight of her made him sick but the look on her face rather pleased him. "What is he doing here?" she said in a tone of voice that made it clear she didn't like the idea. Good.

Lestrade ignored her as he and John stepped into his office and closed the door. John saw the evidence for himself now and it sent chills down his spine. There was no denying it now. In big white letters were the words "GET JOHN WATSON." He stepped up to the window and examined it closely. He searched the floor, Lestrade's desk, every inch of the office. But he didn't find anything else out of the ordinary.

"What do you make of it?" Lestrade asked. John had no idea. He'd been hoping to find something more.

"I don't know. Why would he lead me here? There must be something else." It was just starting to get dark outside as John continued to look at the window and then he saw it. Across the street in the building in front of them, the lights were flickering in the windows on the floor that was level with this one. They flickered off and then they flickered back on and when they did John saw it.

Painted on four different windows were four Hangzhou ancient numerals like the ones in the case he had helped Sherlock with involving the Chinese smugglers. He recognized the first and last numbers from that case. The first was a "1" and the fourth was a "5" but the middle two were a mystery to him. He made a quick mental note of what they looked like before they vanished as quickly as they had come.

"So, there isn't anything else you can see?" Lestrade asked. He hadn't seen it then. And for some reason John didn't think he should share this new information with him. He had no idea what it meant but he was going to find out soon and as he had learned from Sherlock, the police would most likely just get in the way.

"No, nothing at all"

"Well, I'm not surprised. We searched this place thoroughly and didn't find anything. But I'm not going to give up on this John."

John knew that Lestrade would be working on this solo. The others wouldn't be looking for Moriarty or taking the phrase he had written seriously. He also knew that Lestrade was trying to reassure John. He must think John was worried by this. John knew he should be worried about this but he wasn't. Those numbers were burning in his brain and he was restless to find out what they could possibly mean. But he didn't want to appear out of the ordinary, so he played along.

"Thank you Greg, I appreciate it."

Lestrade looked disappointed, like there was more he wished he could be doing. When he opened the door Sergeant Donovan was standing there, like she was waiting on them. She looked at John with a sneer on her face and as she looked him over she took special notice of the cane he was now using.

"So...the freak is dead now and you've come to fill in for him. Have you come to fill Lestrade's mind with your crazy ideas just like your crazy friend?"

John bit back the venomous words he wanted to say. Suddenly, he didn't feel the need to say them anymore. "I asked him come. This does have something to do with him," Lestrade answered. It was clear that he didn't appreciate her comments.

"Yeah, maybe it does. I don't know if psychopath is catching but if it is he's sure to have it. He's probably taking after the loser. He's probably done it himself just so he can come in and solve the case."

"Sergeant, that's enough!" Lestrade said, making it very clear that the discussion was closed. But she just smiled at John and walked away. As he turned away and walked the other way a smile spread across his face. He didn't need to tell her how wrong she was. Soon he would find Moriarty and prove he was real. And when he did he would prove that Sherlock had never lied. That he wasn't a psychopath. That he had never lied. And when he did he hoped he got to see the look on all of their faces


John stared at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep, he felt wired. The events of the day had been so strange and he didn't know what to make of them. He got out of bed and began to pace back and forth.

The evening had been long. Mrs. Hudson had stayed and made him dinner and he'd had a hard time concealing that something was wrong. He told her that Lestrade had asked him to help with a case that had been similar to one him and Sherlock had solved and that Lestrade was hoping John's experience could help. That part wasn't entirely untrue. But he also told her that he hadn't been able to shed much light on the situation. She had seemed to sense that talking about the event had bothered John and had quickly changed the subject and made small talk for the rest of the evening. She probably thought it had brought up memories of Sherlock and that was what bothered John. Whatever she thought, he was glad she had left it alone.

There was no way that he was able to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about those numbers and what they could mean. If he knew what the other two numbers were maybe he could figure it out. But with just a one and five he had no idea what it meant. He couldn't wait until the morning when he could investigate the matter further though he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to find out what the missing numbers were. He was sure that he could find them if he investigated Sherlock's papers from that case but that would involve going to 221B and he wasn't willing to do that. He'd just have to find another way.

As the minutes slowly passed by he thought about Sherlock. John could understand a little bit how Sherlock could never sleep during a case with his mind so busy. John chuckled a little to himself and then stopped. That was probably the first time that he had thought of Sherlock and...laughed. For some reason that bothered him.

Yes, this day had been a strange one indeed.


The next day found John rummaging through a Chinese souvenir shop. This one was similar to the one where he and Sherlock had first realized that the symbols were numbers. It was a different store than that one but still John had worn a disguise just in case he would happen to be recognized. He wore different clothes than he normally would, a hat, and glasses. He also took his cane even though his leg felt better this morning than it had in a long day.

The store was small and cluttered and no one was in there except for a small older woman behind the sales counter. He figured the best way to recognize the numbers was to ask someone who knew what they were. But of coarse he wouldn't want them to know he was asking. The sales lady pounced on him the moment he walked in trying to interest him in various items. He picked up a few items he decided to purchase to get her to leave him alone but he was looking for the numbers.

He turned several items over and looked at the price tag until he saw the ones he needed. Finally, he found one of the numbers, the third number in the sequence. He asked the sales lady how much the item was. "9 pounds" says.

He held onto the item. That meant the numbers were "1", a still unknown number, "9" and "5." The sales lady had finally left him alone attending to a couple of new customers came in, when he finally found the last number. He hurried to check out. She followed him and rang up his purchases but he made sure he asked about the final number. "8 pounds" she replied.

That meant the numbers were 1-8-9-5. The lady told him his total, he paid her, and left the store. He was walking down the street when the answer dawned on him. He knew what those numbers were. That was the number his blog counter had been stuck on for so long. Moriarty was leading John to his blog; that is where the next clue would be.

John couldn't get to his flat fast enough.


When John got back to his flat he flew to his bedroom. He dug his computer out from under a pile of books and papers and ran to kitchen table with it. He was just about to open it when he stopped. He stared at the still black screen. He hadn't been on his blog since before Sherlock had died. Without Sherlock there had been no reason for him to blog. No Sherlock, meant no cases, no cases meant that John had nothing worth reading to write about. Plus, he had been too frightened to ever look at past cases he had written about. With all the terrible press about Sherlock he wasn't sure if he could handle seeing such negative comments on his blog. It was bad enough that he didn't read the newspaper or magazines anymore because there had been so much of that trash in them at first; he couldn't bear to see it on his own blog. People use to love his blog and reading about Sherlock's cases. He didn't want to think about what they might have to say about it now.

He turned the computer on and it came to life. He hardly every turned it on anymore, he rarely needed it. He logged on and brought the internet up. He paused before he typed in the address to his blog. What would he find there? Did he really want to know? What was Moriarty doing? Was John just walking into a trap?

Sherlock's face, his dead, bloody, lifeless face flashed in John's mind. He didn't know what had caused Sherlock to choose such a terrible end to his life but he knew Moriarty had been responsible. Something had happened that John was unaware of. He had failed his friend that day; he hadn't been there when Sherlock needed him. He wouldn't do that again. The world would know that Sherlock was not a fraud if he had anything to do with it.

He pulled up his blog and saw that, sure enough, there was a new untitled, unsigned post, dated today. His blood chilled when he saw what the post said. Somehow he knew that this was his last clue. This is where, whatever was going to happen, would happen. This is where John was either going to get revenge for Sherlock's death, or meet death himself.

One the screen were just four figures: 221B

What WILL John find at 221B? There is one more part to conclude this story. This is my first story so reviews would be appreciated!