Moran touched the man's photo on the screen and whispered, "I found you!"
7th of July, John's birthday
John walked into the therapist's office. Mycroft alone was there. A small box was on the table. John looked tired and worried. He even didn't say anything when Mycroft said, "Happy Birthday". He shrugged and nodded a thank-you. Mycroft took out a very expensive cake made of Belgium chocolate. Handing out a dish with a creamy chocolate cake, the older Holmes asked casually,
"So do you have any plans for tonight? It's your birthday."
"No. Nothing special. Your brother is right. It's just a day in 365 days."
Mycroft poured coffee and put a huge piece of cake into his mouth. Urging John to eat, Mycroft murmured in a half-chiding tone,
"You sound like him more and more."
John realized he had been rude. He smiled meekly with a belated thank-you. He drank tea, ignoring the cake on the dish. Staring at the cream, he asked,
"How did you know it's my birthday?"
"Sherlock called me last night."
The doctor remembered that the sleuth had asked when his birthday was: John had given him a pocket magnifier on Sherlock's birthday. The memory made him feel down more: he missed his flatmate.
"Is there something eating you? Your face's getting longer and longer everyday like him…"
At this, John's lips twitched a little. He had to confess: it was impossible to hide something from the Holmes anyway.
"You know, my new friend from the army, Moran? He disappeared."
"Call him or visit him."
"He recently moved out, left no forwarding address, and his number is not in service."
"Humn, he can have a psychological problem. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? You said he was also in Afghanistan, right?"
"Yes, but he seemed fine to me."
"What was his rank? Colonel, did you say?"
"Yes. Colonel Moran. I don't know his first name."
Mycroft's face hardened all of a sudden. In his mind map, a combined name, Sebastian Moran started to glitter. He sent a message to his assistant to find more about Colonel. He asked John to tell him whatever he knew about Colonel Moran. He secretly blamed himself.
How could he not have checked the Moran bloke?
15 minutes later, Mycroft's mobile beeped, alerting for incoming message. He glanced at it and turned pale.
"John. You need to move to a safe house right now with Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper. I will upgrade the surveillance on Lestrade, too."
John stared at Mycroft blankly, not sure if he had heard right. At his blank face, the older Holmes' voice raised rather impatiently, throwing off the usual facade of nonchalance.
"Colonel Sebastian Moran. Code Name, Tiger. He is the third shooter. He was so dangerously close to us and we had no idea!"
Without any more explanation, Mycroft made a few phone calls and escorted John to the flat himself to get his things, ignoring the rest of the cake on the table.
October
The safe house was quiet and well-furbished. Molly Hooper and Mrs. Hudson enjoyed their seclusion rather well; they giggled over telly; Molly got a rare paid leave from her work so she had little to complain. She studied forensics and pathology while discussing some topics in medical journals with John. Molly was lucky; John had to quit his job. He focused on physical training, exercising on the treadmill every day. As long as Moran is out there, he had to stay here. Sherlock was still abroad, working with local forces to break down Moriarty's web.
Mycroft once let John talk to Sherlock for the first time since he saw the detective sedated after the traffic accident. The call was brief. The low voice was the same; nothing had changed between them. To his surprise, Sherlock started with an apology and John was rather moved. Sherlock, however, sounded quite angry at his brother for letting Moran get so close to his friends. He declared that he needed a separate way to communicate with John besides through Mycroft. They agreed to use Sherlock's homepage for emergency contact. Sherlock could be somewhere without the Internet, yet it was by far good to have one channel to contact his friend. It became John's habit to visit the Science of Deduction every day.
John was quite shocked when Mycroft showed him a detailed file on Moran. After discharged from the army, his whereabouts were not known for a few years. Then he seemed to work as a professional assassin with a code name, Tiger. He was the man in the CCTV camera who had demanded Brook's ex-wife to request an investigation of Richard Brook's missing. Molly also confirmed that Moran was the man who had threatened her around Christmas.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ronald Adair was found dead, shot in the head twice in his bedroom locked inside. No sign of forced entry. No proof left whatsoever. It was the second murder: the first victim, Mr. Northwood. The police suspected a serial murderer on the loose: bullets were fired from the same rifle.
Lestrade protested at Mycroft: he could barely do his job due to the maximum surveillance that had been placed upon him for three months. Worse, cases turned cold faster without the consulting detective. It was frustrating enough to see demoralized officers in his department. In addition, he knew he might lose a chance to get a promotion if he failed again. After an hour of shouting match, Mycroft had to agree to lower the surveillance on the DI. Anyway he was in Scotland Yard with many armed officers; and Moran's primary target was John Watson.
November
Sherlock, when he walked out of the terminal 1, Heathrow Airport, sent a text to his brother. Soon his phone vibrated. Mycroft's voice was urgent.
"Sherlock, Lestrade's missing since last night. He got a message from his wife and left the office rather early. No one saw him or heard from him since then. His wife is also missing."
"Moran?"
"We don't know yet. Lestrade is a police officer; he may have other enemies."
"John? Mrs. Hudson? Molly?"
"John and Mrs. Hudson are in a safe house. Dr. Hooper, too."
"You're telling this to me now?"
Sherlock's voice was openly accusatory. The older Holmes exasperated,
"I didn't know until 8 o'clock this morning. Go home. I'll join you after the meeting with Interior Minister. I can't reschedule the bloody meeting."
Sherlock hung up, and took a taxi.
Two hours later Mycroft almost ran into his manor, calling out his brother's name. His voice echoed through the big empty house. No one answered. Throwing away his coat and briefcase, he entered the guest bedroom. His eyes noticed new items: a briefcase still zipped, a cup of tea, and Sjherlock's laptop. The laptop was turned on: Science of Deduction, the rarely visited website of his brother. He was turning around when he noticed a new message dated today. Mycroft turned pale when he read the message.
The message was simple, posted 33 minutes ago.
Let's finish what Jim started. Find me. SM.
His mobile rang: it was John. He was checking Sherlock's webpage as usual and saw the message, too. At that moment, a new message popped up. A hyperlink. He clicked it and found a blank webpage with two photos: one was his brother right after the traffic accident. He wondered where Moran had gotten the photo because he'd never seen it before. The other was a photo of two people who were tied together. The Lestrades. The woman must be his wife. He could hear John's whisper on the other side of the line.
"It's my fault. It should've been me. I was his target, not Greg."
Mycroft asked,
"How did he get hold of Sherlock's photo? Who took it?"
John's breathing got heavier.
"Lestrade, he must have taken this photo when we found Sherlock after the cab accident. Why didn't he delete the photo?"
Mycroft asked,
"I don't think Lestrade showed it around."
"Oh, my God. It was Moran. We practiced shooting together last May and Lestrade lost his phone. It mysteriously turned up again after hours. Moran must have stolen his mobile and found the photo."
"He got the proof that Sherlock didn't die. Then he vanished, waiting for our defense get lower."
Mycroft's voice was cold and calm while his brain working fervently. Mycroft could hear John's groans.
Moriarty and Sherlock, where did their paths cross? Bart's!
John slowly said,
"Moran has lost me. So he got Greg instead."
After a moment silence, John asked Mycroft to fetch him: he needed to save Lestrade. His voice had a chill that Mycroft had never knew.
"I drove him to Moran's path. He would've been perfectly safe if I had not taken him to the shooting practice. I need a bullet-proof vest and a gun."
Mycroft promised to send a car, hung up the phone, and hurried out.
A couple of special agents opened the door to the rooftop of Bart's. Mycroft followed when they shouted, "Clear, here." The rooftop was abandoned. Actually the door had been bolted heavily. Since the fall the hospital saw to it that the door be locked. There was no one there. His deduction was wrong. The hospital was the first place that popped up in his mind. Wiping off sweats with his handkerchief, Mycroft thought desperately.
If not Bart's, then where? Where is his brother? Think, Mycroft, think! The Pool…the five pips.
He ordered the agents to go to the pool. He tried Sherlock's mobile again, but the phone was still turned off. In the parking lot, someone called out his name. It was John. Mycroft started to explain what happened. John got tense when Mycroft confirmed what he had dreaded: the DI and his wife had gone missing. Before they got in the car, John put on the bullet-proof vest. In the car, he carefully checked the gun. Mycroft knew his words would not stop John: he was heading back to the battle field.
They were almost there: three minutes before the pool. Suddenly they heard a loud noise; the car swayed; the ground shook; and plumes of black smoke and dusts were seen two blocks away. Mycroft's eyes met John's in fear. When the car screeched to a halt, they jumped out. The pool was gone: there were heaps of concrete chunks, broken glasses, and metal beams. The driver called the police; they could hear sirens getting closer. Mycroft and John ran towards the rubble, calling out the names, "Sherlock" and "Greg". No one answered: the visibility was terrible due to dusts and smoke. The rubbles seemed unstable so they could not get closer.
A few minutes later two shadows appeared out of nowhere. John's heart leapt. He asked,
"Sherlock?"
Covered in dust and bleeding from gashes, a tall figure was helping a female to walk. John called out Mycroft. Sherlock staggered and laid the woman down on the ground.
"John, this is Mrs. Lestrade. She got hurt. Look after her."
John knelt before Mrs. Lestrade and checked her wounds. She was in shock; bruises on her face; definitely broke her left arm. Police and ambulances arrived, but Sherlock didn't see them. He ran towards the pool again. Mycroft grabbed him.
"What are you doing? It's not safe."
"Lestrade, he's still there. Moran, too."
"You have to explain to the police; let the experts deal with it."
His brother's face was like a ghost. Mycroft made him sit and explain. The police and fire fighters started the search of the rubbles; dogs sniffed around and a crane arrived. Sherlock refused to move but he needed medical attention and there was nothing he could do. The search might take for days. It took both John and Mycroft to make him ride an ambulance.
It was getting so dark so the search and rescue had to wait until the following morning. The temperature was going down fast as it started raining.
Could Lestrade be able to last the night?
John and Mycroft looked at each other. In the hospital, Sherlock tersely stated that Lestrade was behind them; Moran detonated the bomb; Sherlock tried to double back when he saw the DI fall beneath a beam. Then he saw Greg's desperate eyes fixed on his wife. His eyes were telling to take out his wife from there first. Sherlock had to oblige. Behind them, the rest of the ceiling crumbled. Sherlock, John, and Mycroft barely slept that night.
When the dawn broke, Sergeant Donovan drove them back to the pool. They waited for any news. Two hours into the resumed search and rescue, Sebastian Moran's body was recovered. After thirty more minutes of waiting, Greg Lestrade was rescued: hypothermia, concussions, shock, broken bones, gashes all over... It was better that he was unconscious.
Epilogue
When Greg Lestrade woke up, he found his wife's tearful face first. Then he could see other people like Sherlock, John, and Mycroft. Given the brain surgery and broken bones, his recovery was slow and painful: he had to go through a long physio-therapy to regain basic muscle skills like speaking. He didn't elaborate on the ordeal of that day much; he had some troubles in remembering things. However, he signed the divorce paper first when he was able to move his hand despite his wife's hesitation. Later, he had to explain why: his presence in her life could put her in a grave danger like that night and he wasn't going to let it happen again.
Mycroft offered that Greg stay in his manor for the time being until he recovered and went back to his work. Given the economy, it would take time to sell the house and split money with his ex-wife. Greg needed a place to move out. John had offered 221B yet living with Sherlock was not an easy thing - Greg had the experience long ago. Mycroft, who had been feeling guilty for his negligence, surprised everybody by offering one of his guest rooms.
Greg Lestrade was released on the 6th of January, Sherlock's birthday. He still needed a wheelchair and months of rehabilitation. Everybody was waiting at Mycroft's. Mycroft and Sherlock picked up the DI.
The manor was clean and comfortable: the fireplace glowed; people sat surrounding the DI, talking and laughing. Sherlock didn't deny it when John said Greg's return would be the best birthday present for the detective. Nor did he roll his eyes when everyone said Happy Birthday. Mycroft's eyes almost burned because this was the first ever birthday party for his brother since his childhood. People who cared each other were celebrating a return of two people: Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade.
The sleuth took his violin out of the case and played a happy birthday song. John made coffee and tea while Mycroft brought a huge chocolate cake out. He didn't dare to do candle-blowing thing - he felt so lucky that his brother did save words. He just sliced the cake and served each piece to the guests. For once, the detective didn't comment on his brother's diet. Sherlock kept on playing beautiful music, ignoring his plate. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, John, Mycroft, and Greg enjoyed the sweetness of the chocolate. When Mycroft got another piece of the cake, Sherlock stopped music and started the usual bickering with his brother. It was just like the old times.
I couldn't decide if this story should end in tragedy or not: Sebastian Moran's Journal ended with a happy ending (Life still goes on). I was writing some antsy one with a character death. Well, my family opposed to it; In addition, Greg is one of my favorite characters. So here is another happy ending: back to normalcy.
Actually I have just found out that Greg Lestarde was divorced in the 202: his tanned hand shows that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. In both versions of my story, Lestrade gets divorced around the Pool confrontation with Moran.
Reviews can encourage me a lot. Please, would you leave a few lines?
