Chapter 4

Thanks to IzzyDelta, I fixed the first chapter so new readers won't be confused as to where the mother is, as in the unedited version, she was written in, but in the next chapter, she was completely missing. (speaking of which, she is mentioned in this chapter) (she's actually kind of a big part of this chapter) (but whatever enjoy)

Also, from now on, there will be spoilers from The Great Game and a bit of A Scandal In Belgravia. (It'll contain minor details on the "pool incident")

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock

Anderson stepped out of the bathroom, approaching Donovan and Lestrade. "Where did John and Mycroft go?" he questioned, and after looking around for a moment, he added, "And the little ankle-biter, too, where did he go off to?"

Donovan rolled her eyes at Anderson's new nickname for the younger Sherlock, and replied, "They went out to the park."

"He took John with him?" Anderson asked, surprised. "I knew Sherlock wanted to go to the park, but I didn't think Mycroft would actually take him. I didn't think John would go, either; that is, I didn't think Mycroft would let him go. Have you noticed how protective he is?"

"Every-day Mycroft is even more protective," Lestrade said, sitting down on the couch nearby. "He has cameras in his flat, did you know that? He's even got bodyguards trailing him, but he has to change them every few days because Sherlock always notices them. He usually notices them after the first hour or so, but he doesn't do anything about them until later."

"You're kidding," Anderson scoffed. "Bodyguards?"

Donovan nodded. "Got in a fight with one of them, once." She reminisced. "It was the day I accidentally made the freak have a panic attack; right after that Moriarty fellow met them at the pool." Lestrade grimaced at her use of the nickname 'freak', but didn't take it any further than that.

"I said something about…Westwood, I think, I tried to get him to try a Westwood suit on, but he refused and started freaking out." She continued. "I only found out that that Moriarty guy wore Westwood when the guards stopped me on our way out of the store."

The rest of them fell quiet, remembering Moriarty. After the pool incident, John and Sherlock turned up at the crime scene the next day rattled. John was looking over his shoulder every other second, and Sherlock was trying to console him, but he was still shaken as well, his face had been as white as a ghost. They gave the team only a brief overview on what had happened; Moriarty had put the bomb on John and threatened to kill him unless Sherlock stopped prying, but then decided to kill them for good until a phone call stopped him. Whatever else he had done had shaken up their consulting detective and his doctor.

"Oh, he told you that? How sweet of him to remember." A sickly-sweet voice drawled from the top of the staircase. He had an Irish accent, and the way he spoke seemed to tender, yet crawled underneath your skin at the same time, terrifying you and paralyzing your heart. He walked out of the shadows, holding his hands behind his back. Lestrade only took a moment to confirm that his suit was, in fact, Westwood.

Before Lestrade could form a sentence, the man confirmed his identity. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

John, Mycroft, and Sherlock arrived at the park after only a few minutes of walking. Sherlock pulled on Mycroft's arm, stretching out his sleeves. He let out a giggle that, in John's mind, echoed the older Sherlock's low, bass chuckle.

"What do you want to do, Sherlock?" John asked, ruffling Sherlock's hair. Mycroft breathed a little loudly as he did so, and John backed off slightly, remembering Mycroft's kick to his ankle. It turned out only to be a slight bruise, and he had been only limping slightly, but he knew that if Mycroft wanted to do more damage, he could.

"We could play hide and go seek. That's what Mycroft and I usually do." Sherlock piped up, his voice high and excited.

Mycroft laughed, his own voice beginning to be deep, closer to the Mycroft that John knew. "By hide and go seek, he means he hides, and we try to find him over and over again."

Sherlock grinned sheepishly. "It'll be fun, I promise!"

John nodded. "Alright, let's do it, then! You can go hide, and Mycroft and I will count, okay?"

Sherlock nodded eagerly, and while John and Mycroft turned their backs, he raced off in the other direction in search of a good hiding place.

"So…" John said, trying to clear the air between them. This was only the second time they had been alone together, and the last time they had been alone was when they were talking about how long they could stay. The boy hadn't said anything about his parents returning, and John had been meaning to ask him about them when Sherlock had interrupted. But now, he had plenty of time.

"You have parents, right?" John asked, trying to get to his point sooner rather than later. "I mean, you're not orphans or anything, are you?"

Mycroft looked at him, astonished. Then his face transformed into a very sullen look. "No. I mean, we're not orphans, no. We have parents. They're just…not around much."

John looked at him, his face formed into sympathy. "When was the last time you saw them?"

"Two months." Mycroft whipered.

John looked at him, aghast. "Where do you get the money? Do you have a job, or…?"

Mycroft shook his head. "No, no, we both go to school. They send us checks every week. We get along fine."

Suddenly Mycroft's face turns angry and desperate. "You're not going to the police about it, are you? Your friends- they'll separate us! You can't, you can't tell them, not ever!"

John shook his head. "Of course not. This can stay with us. But, if they knew, they wouldn't separate you. We'd let you stay the way you are." Although John knew that if he could anything about it, he would. But if he told a real, proper policeman from this century, then they'd separate them, and the future wouldn't be the way it is now. Time travel was confusing, John had decided.

Mycroft nodded. "Still…don't tell them. Please."

"Alright, alright. I won't tell them, I swear." John said, shaking Mycroft's hand on it.

Suddenly, they heard a loud scream. A child's scream. Sherlock's scream.

"Get off!" Sherlock cried from far away. "Get away from me!"

Mycroft and John turned around and raced over to where Sherlock was standing, only to see a man holding a gun to his hand, holding Sherlock tightly in his grasp.

Moriarty smiled daringly at them, clicking the safety off of his gun. "Hello, John. Did you miss me?"