Chapter 2

As summer slowly changed to autumn, a new pattern of normalcy was evident at Baker Street. John had on-call work at two different small clinics near the flat so he was busy at least part of the week at one or the other of them. The patients weren't much of a challenge to diagnose or treat, but he was paying his own bills and no longer surviving entirely on the charity of his mystery benefactor.

John was also in regular contact with Inspector Lestrade, meeting once every week or so at the pub for a drink. They started getting together soon after the Adair case went cold. Lestrade, John felt, needed someone to talk to that was outside the police force and John was at least someone who knew a bit about Greg's world and could sympathize.

Sitting together in a booth near the rear of the pub Lestrade said, "There's been another one."

"Another one?" John asked.

"Another shooting, like your friend Adair. Same weird bullet, same sort of impossible shot. That makes four total counting Adair in six months."

"And you have no leads, nothing to go on?" John asking flagging down the bartender for another round.

"Oh, we have leads. I can tell you exactly what the bullets are made from, I can even tell you they are home-made rounds. They aren't of a standard caliber though so the gun itself is impossible to trace as we don't know what we're looking for." Lestrade sighed. "The press is starting to have a field day with this on top of everything else."

John grimaced at the mentioned of the newspapers. He hadn't really read one since Sherlock had died. He didn't want to read what they were saying about his friend at the time of his death and after a month or so of avoiding news all together, he was out of the habit of regularly checking.

"Everything else?" John asked.

"You must be the only person in London not out for police blood, John," Lestrade said passing over a copy of The Independent dated the previous week. "Something has stirred up the nest for the criminal element. We're getting more anonymous tips about things like thefts and we're also getting an increase in bodies, though most of these are solved pretty quick. Gang rivalries make for quick work. "

John took the paper and glanced at the headline proclaiming the successful arrest in the Molesey theft case while further down the page there was a smaller story on the death of yet another low level mobster in the city.

John glanced up from the paper to ask, "How do you know this isn't just normal, everyday stuff?"

"I just know," Lestrade replied. "The tips are coming in too quickly after the crimes are committed for it to be an innocent bystander. Hell, we got one for an art gallery while the thieves were still inside! Something has upset the balance. And while we're making more arrests, all the press can see is a crime wave in progress."

John drank his beer and stared into space. "Speaking of cases, did you ever get anywhere with the kidnapping case?" he asked after a few minutes. He didn't have to specify which kidnapping, they both knew it was the Bruhl case.

Lestrade rubbed a hand over his face before answering, "It went cold. The kids were back and safe. The parents were happy with that and weren't eager to pursue it. And well …"

"Everyone thought they had their kidnapper sorted when Sherlock died," John finished for him.

Lestrade shrugged but didn't say anything, they both knew John was right as far as the police and the press were concerned. They finished their beers in silence.

Walking back to the flat together, John stopped long enough to drop his regular coin in the homeless man's cup.

"Isn't that the same man I saw months ago?" Lestrade asked.

John glanced back at the man in time to see him remove the coin and secrete it away in a pocket of his coat. He shrugged and replied, "Yes, the same man. Sad really. I tried to talk to him a few times but he just sinks further into his coat shaking his head and won't look at me."

John noticed Lestrade eying the man now with more suspicion. "I could run him in for vagrancy you know," he said.

"Let him alone, Greg. He's not hurting anyone and the people around here are used to him. He doesn't harass people or anything."

"Still," Lestrade said.

"Good night, Greg," John said trying to distract the inspector.

"Yeah, 'night," Lestrade said with a small wave.

John watched Lestrade give the homeless man one last suspicious look and walk off down to the corner where he'd left his car.


Sitting alone in the flat John thought about his conversation with Lestrade and his response, or lack of one to the press after Sherlock's death. After staring off into space for a few more minutes John went to the kitchen to put the kettle on and then he did something he hadn't done in months: he logged onto his blog. He had once told Sherlock the blog was the reason the detective had many of his clients; reading through their many cases again it was obvious John's writing was more about Sherlock than himself. So much for using it as therapy, he thought wryly. He stared at the screen for several minutes before deciding what to actually write, then he began:

If there is anyone out there still checking this blog, I thought it was time to say something about my friend, Sherlock Holmes. The news would like you to think he was delusional. The press is wrong. James Moriarty is a real person, one of the few people I would say is truly evil. I know, I met him and was terrorized by him. I know the newspapers have a very different idea on Sherlock and Moriarty, and I know that version is the lie. Every case that you've read about on this blog really happened. Sherlock solved those cases, he was not a fake, there was no magic trick. He observed. He often said it was a skill anyone could learn but few bothered to try. For his efforts to bring criminals to justice, he was branded in the press, and by some members of the police, as a fraud. Since no one is listening anyway, I can state here, in my own little part of the internet that I know the Richard Brook you've read about in the papers is really James Moriarty. I know it, and I will find a way to prove it as well.

London is a little less safe now that Sherlock is gone. My friend referred to Moriarty as a consulting criminal and I'm sure you've been reading the papers and know about four deaths at the hand of a mysterious shooter. Four people killed, and no one seems to know who it was. Well I know two things: Moriarty is involved in this too, and the one man who could prove it is dead.

John stared at the computer screen and what he'd written. It was time to find Richard Brook and prove to everyone that he and James Moriarty were one and the same.