Chapter 4
'A good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination'
Nelson Mandela
Present Day
John's phone was ringing from his back pocket as they were leaving. He pulled it out and looked at the caller id feeling extremely guilty as Mary flashed on the screen. "Shit," John cursed. Sherlock paused at the door and looked back at John with interest. "Hi," John answered hastily. Sherlock couldn't hear the conversation on the other end of the line. "Yes very busy…All unpacked then?...Good, yeah…I'm going to be late back, I bumped into an old friend. Do you mind if I catch up with him tonight?...Thanks, you're a star…I will, love you too." John looked up at Sherlock waiting expectantly.
"Your girlfriend," the consultant detective stated. John couldn't be sure but he thought he heard disappointment in Sherlock's tone.
"Fiancée actually," John pocketed his phone, "Mary. I met her in Africa. She's a friend of Harriet's." Sherlock grunted something unintelligible and opened the door of the hotel.
-x-
"I thought we were going to Baker Street?" John asked when the taxi they were riding in was called to a halt by Sherlock on the corner of Cavendish Square. John and Sherlock stepped out and began to weave their way through narrow back alleys and dark damp back streets towards Baker Street. Sherlock glanced back regularly to check they weren't followed. John surveyed for himself their surroundings. He could honestly say that he had no clue where he was. They came to a stop part way down the end of a back alley behind a row of houses not dissimilar to those of Baker Street.
"Sherlock!" John whispered harshly to bring his friend to a stop as he prepared to leap over a tall wooden fence, "You can't just walk through people's gardens."
"We'll be running," Sherlock sprung over the fence and grumbling under his breath John followed. He saw the familiar flick of Sherlock's coat as he disappeared over the garden fence on the other side. The ex-army doctor vaulted over the next fence and landed with a heavy thud in a bed of weeds. He couldn't see Sherlock anywhere but heard the sound a key turning in a lock. Sherlock was letting himself into the house. "Relax, John, this house has been empty for some time."
John hadn't realised he was so tense, "Right, because that totally justifies breaking and entering."
Sherlock smirked at the sarcasm. "Enjoy that?" he asked in good humour once they were inside with the door shut behind them.
John chuckled, "Oh god yes."
There were no lights on inside the house and Sherlock made no indication he wanted light's on. John jumped out of his skin when he felt an ice cold hand clasp around his wrist gently tugging him along. "People will talk," John looked down at Sherlock's hand on his own still not believing that Sherlock was alive. "Is this really necessary?"
"People always talk," Sherlock answered him and continuing to grip his wrist he pulled John along a hall into an empty room on the front the house. "We are in Camden House, due to be renovated before the recession and lucky for us it's still conveniently empty."
-x-
"So run this by me again," John looked away from the shadow of a figure in the window of 221B Baker Street as he shuffled on his feet, "That is a mannequin."
"Yes John," Sherlock replied with the hint of annoyance at John's inability to stand still.
"And that is you and you have Mrs Hudson, Mrs Hudson who is getting on in years, moving it every now and then," John shook his head at his friends plan.
"I'm fully aware of my plan, there's no need for you to repeat it to me," Sherlock rolled his eyes at his friends slow uptake.
"Right okay," John straightened himself in his military fashion and nodded his head, "I'm still not getting it." Up until now John had only picked up snippets of Sherlock's great plan.
Sherlock, with excitement bubbling away inside, answered John, "Moran. Sebastian Moran. Moriarty's number two. He was one of the snipers when I jumped. It's him we're going to catch."
John tested the name, "Sebastian Moran." It was unfamiliar to him.
"You might know him, he was a colonel," Sherlock spoke without looking away from the window.
John rubbed his temples, "Believe it or not Sherlock but I don't actually know everyone in the ummmpf-." Sherlock clamped his hand over John's mouth and pushed him up against the wall as a scratching click echoed down the hallway. John's eyes widened. Someone was picking the lock. Sherlock held the index finger on his free hand up to his own lips. John took the hint and nodded his head. Sherlock slowly removed his hand and pressed his own body back against the wall. There was someone else in the house. The person stepped cautiously down the hall with the intention of being quiet. Quietly Sherlock and John pressed themselves further back against the wall out of sight of the doorway into the room.
In the dark front room the shadow of a man carrying a case passed within three feet of the consultant detective and his loyal army doctor completely oblivious to their presence. The man wasn't expecting there to be anyone in the house. With practised ease the window was opened and he bent down to open the case. The only sound in the room was the putting together of the contents of the box. A sniper rifle.
The man, who John now knew to be Sebastian Moran, perched the sniper on the windowsill. Neither John nor Sherlock moved. The target, the mannequin of Sherlock, was lined up. A red dot that John hadn't seen since the day at the poolside could be seen across the street in the window of Baker Street. With the steady breath of a marksman the trigger was pulled. The sound of the gun sliced through the room.
Sherlock sprang into action using the sound to cover his own steps. He leapt onto Moran forcing him to the ground in surprise. John stood motionless for a second until he noticed what Sherlock had done. Moran had flipped Sherlock over onto his back closing his hands tightly around his throat. The strangled cry of 'John' bought John to his senses. He pulled a gun, given to him by Sherlock, from its position tucked into the back of his trousers and clocked Moran over the head. He fell onto the floor with a loud thud.
"Thanks," Sherlock croaked. He rubbed his throat and took a deep breath.
"That wasn't part of the plan, was it?" John revelled in his evenings activities.
Sherlock took a deep breath to fill his temporarily starved lungs, "I thought he would use the street." John laughed and Sherlock chuckled quietly equally glad to have his friends company once again. A loud bang followed by running footsteps silenced the pair's laughter, "Ah Lestrade," Sherlock stood up and brushed off the dust.
"I'm glad to see you again mate," Lestrade clapped a hand on his shoulder.
By the time the scene was contained Moran had regained consciousness and was leaning against the wall. Moran was fixing Sherlock with a viscous glare making no secret of his distaste for the consultant detective. "I had some misgivings over Jim's obsession with you but I can see it. You have been a worthy opponent Holmes."
"This, gentlemen, is Sebastian Moran. The last remaining piece of Moriarty's web. I trust you can take care of the gun? You did at least manage to solve the Molesly Mystery without any help,
"Err yeah," Lestrade was almost certain that had been a compliment from the normally stoic Sherlock. He stepped towards Moran, "Sebastian Moran I am arresting you for the attempted to murder of Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh no," Sherlock cut in with a shake in his head, "I'm not to play any part in this. This is your remarkable arrest. Congrats." Lestrade's face gave away his confusion, "Moran murdered Adair. You have your man Lestrade." Lestrade watched as Sherlock summoned John.
Lestrade nodded to indicate the bruise on Sherlock's jaw as they walked past the Detective Inspector on their way out, "You do that?" he asked John.
"Yeah," John rubbed his knuckles as they throbbed in memory and followed Sherlock from the room, off out the broken front door, across the road and in to Baker street..
-x-
"Another broken window, Mrs Hudson will put up our rent again," Sherlock commented as he took his coat off and hung it up in its usual place. John didn't have the heart to break it to his friend at that moment that he would not be moving back in to Baker Street.
"Oh boys I am glad to see you together. It just hasn't been the same," Mrs Hudson fussed on as she made tea and a plate of sandwiches, "and that window is coming out of your rent." Sherlock swept Mrs Hudson into an uncharacteristic hug, "Oh Sherlock you silly boy."
"Not bad," John pulled the mannequin from its standing position to take a look at the shot. Sherlock hummed in response as he sat in his chair.
For a while it was just like old times as John sat in his chair Sherlock in his as they discussed the night's adventure. "John he was the second most dangerous man in London. A sterling and stain free career in the army. Two tours of Afghanistan. There are some trees that grow to a certain height and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity." Sherlock placed his hands together and under his chin as he recollected everything to John, "Upon his return to London he grew that unsightly eccentricity when he was sought out by Moriarty. It was from Moriarty he had his income, you know what an army pension is like, he was the only that the really difficult and dangerous jobs were trusted to. Everything was concealed so well that as I began to deconstruct Moriarty's web Moran became the only one I couldn't touch until now." Sherlock leaned forward and took a sip of cooling tea, "I was in France when I read about Adair's murder. As long as Moran was there I could not return. The simple answer would be to kill him but I would be arrested. When Lestrade submits the gun for evidence he will find the same bullet was used on Adair."
John took in every detail and marvelled at his friend's brilliance. "Why would Moran target Adair?" John asked to fill in the only missing piece of the puzzle.
Sherlock considered this for a moment, "Ah John! We can each form our own hypothesis upon present evidence, and yours is likely to be as correct as mine."
"You don't know," John hid his smirk behind his tea cup.
Sherlock fixed him with a glare, "it's not difficult to explain the facts. Moran was fond of gambling. He met Adair and they won a considerable amount of money together. Moran had been cheating; Adair found out and challenged him." John couldn't fault Sherlock's explanation assuming that he was right over the gambling. "We shall have to wait for the trial and I can return to being the world's only consultant detective."
John took a deep breath as he prepared his next question, "What about Harriet?" Sherlock set his cup down, his face a blank mask of composure, and went over to the broken window. "Sherlock?" John prompted setting his empty cup down.
"I don't care for Miss Thornton," Sherlock repeated his earlier statement.
"Bullshit," John didn't sugar coat it. "Go to her and tell her you are alive. If she finds out from the papers Moran will be the least of your worries." Sherlock scoffed, Harriet was nowhere near the leagues of Moran or Moriarty. "Sherlock," John warned, "She told me what you said to her on the roof. You still love her so stop being a dick and sort this out."
John picked up his coat and put it on, "Where are you going?" Sherlock whipped around not hiding his alarm in time.
"Home," John answered.
Sherlock turned back around, "This is your home."
"No Sherlock, not anymore. Mary and I have our own home," John opened the door, "I'll see you later." There was no answer from the sulking consultant detective as he closed the door behind him.
"Oh John, are you leaving?" Mrs Hudson met John on the stairs. It was just coming up to midnight and Mrs Hudson was on her way up to fuss over Sherlock some more.
"Err yeah, Mary, my fiancée," John scratched the back of his head guiltily. He'd not spoken to Mrs Hudson in a long time.
"It's okay John," she patted his arm, "I understand."
"Can you give him Harriet's address and make sure he goes to see her," John requested of his former landlady before departing.
-x-
"No Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock shouted, "For the last time I will not be popping down to Cornwall to see Miss Thornton!"
Mrs Hudson jumped in surprise, "I'll just leave the address on the table," she tentatively placed Harriet's address onto the table, "good night Sherlock."
Sherlock stood motionless at the window. He could see the table from the corner of his eye. Annoyed at the sentiment he'd buried deep for three years he picked up his violin determined to ignore the address. A few minutes passed. Sherlock didn't realise that he'd stopped playing and now held the address in his hand. He put on his coat, picked up his scarf and strode purposely down the stairs and out onto the dark street.
Hello everyone, hope you had a nice Christmas. Thanks to Gwilwillith and poiuyo 123 for reviewing. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading.