John didn't see Richard again until after Sherlock's funeral. In one passing moment John had half thought Richard would show up. John was glad he didn't. He didn't want anyone at the funeral who didn't actually belong as a friend of Sherlock's. Lestrade showed up, and Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly. Sarah showed up, smiling sadly and whispered about what an arse Sherlock had always been. John couldn't disagree. A handful of Sherlock's old clients showed up as well. It was a small service, but the people who came were people who truly believed that Sherlock was real.

John's grief hadn't eased any, he was sure. His pain didn't feel any less, he just felt day and day more like he could breathe. Grief worked like that sometimes. You didn't get over it, you just learned how to cohabitate with it. A week passed from the day he had to bury Sherlock Holmes, and Dr. John Watson didn't feel any better or less in pain than he had the day he saw Sherlock's blood spill across the pavement.

He had moved to a new flat, a very small two room place that combined kitchen, living room, and bedroom, and the WC was in the same room as the shower. John didn't care. Nothing reminded him of Sherlock and he liked it that way. The only problem was that the entire building had one washing machine and no line to dry clothes. It made washing his things a real pain, and he already had a selection of his suits hanging up on the pole that should have held a shower curtain.

The only other problem was that he didn't know were very basic things were in proximity to his flat. He hadn't figured out where he could get food late at night yet. He'd figured out where the internet café was, though the prices were insane, even for a small cup of tea. Too bad his flat didn't have internet. He was still looking for things like the dry cleaners.

The day he met Richard Brooke again, John had been looking for a Tesco. In fact, he'd just found it when Richard Brooke and Kitty Reilly walked out of it. John stiffened instantly when he saw them. Richard noticed next, and offered only a very shy and very small smile. Kitty was the one with the big reaction. She offered a predatory grin.

"Dr. Watson, so good to see you again," she said, walking up to him. "I was wondering if there were any words you'd like to say about Sherlock Holmes fall?" She asked.

"Sod off," John said. He had a problem with being particularly mean to women, but he legitimately couldn't think of a single woman he'd ever hated so much as this one. He still censored himself, but more out of habit than because he was trying to spare her feelings.

"There's nothing you want to say about the false detective?" she asked.

"There was nothing false about him," John said, looking her up and down. He couldn't read her like Sherlock could, but she was rather obvious. "Unlike you. Did you buy that whole outfit with money you got from your new articles? A bit tacky isn't it? Profiting off someone's death."

"It's not tacky when you're telling the truth, unlike you and your blog," she said. "Why don't you just admit it? There's plenty of evidence to prove that I'm right."

"None that Moriarty couldn't make up."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Moriarty is a fairy tale."

"You think a man who could call himself the world's only consulting criminal couldn't fake a new identity?" John snorted. "You really are stupid."

"Dr. Watson, please," Richard said, clearly deciding that breaking in before the argument escalated. "How was the funeral?"

"Good," John said shortly. "You didn't show up."

"I didn't think it was appropriate. I thought about it, but I thought I might pull focus," Richard admitted. John nodded.

"You weren't needed," John agreed.

"Ms. Reilly, would you mind heading home without me. I'll carry the sodas home," he added, switching bags with her easily. "I just want to talk with Dr. Watson alone, please?" he asked, with his most disarming smile. She didn't seem happy about it. She wanted to stay and see what other information she could get to publish. Still, she left, unable to turn Richard's sweet smile down.

"You're still living her?" John asked.

"Where else am I to go?" Richard asked, setting the soda down on ten pavement. "My flat's been sublet already, and I'm not interested in staying in Jim's."

"No, I can't see that as a good idea… Moriarty had a flat in London?"

"A penthouse suite," Richard said. He rolled his eyes, glancing after Kitty, who had stopped to look back at them.

"Of course," John scoffed, looking after Kitty as well who stopped pretending to be looking at a flower stand to continue on her way now that she'd been discovered. "She's not in much of a mood, is she?"

"She's upset that I started calling her Ms. Reilly again," Richard said with a sigh. "She also knows that I'm hiding something from her. I stopped playing my part. I'm polite now, but I stopped being affectionate with her. She's also upset that she can't get me in bed."

"A predator," John said.

"In every sense of the word. I keep being reminded why Jim needed me for this job; he'd have killed her a long time ago."

"Have you ever killed anyone before?" John asked.

"Not on purpose. I dropped something off a very high balcony once. The man was already sick, though, so it wasn't my thing that killed him, but he did die in response to the shock," Richard explained. He smiled weakly. "It's a bit of a dull story, actually. I was drunk at a party Jim had thrown but couldn't come to."

"Sounds very dull," John said, rolling his eyes.

"Dreadfully," Richard said. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know how to get in touch with Mycroft Holmes, would you?" he asked.

"Sort of yes, why?" John asked.

"I still have no news on Jim's body. I got his clothes and effects back a few days ago, but not his body. I can't even begin to plan a funeral until I know when I'll be able to claim the body," Richard said.

"You still haven't gotten him back? Hasn't he been dead over a week," John asked. Of course he knew the exact date. How could he forget?

"Yes, exactly," Richard said. "So, you know how I can find Mycroft Holmes?"

"Well… I do know one way," John said. He didn't actually have Mycroft's phone number, but he knew how to find him easy enough. "He frequents the Diogenes' Club."

"Ah," Richard said. "How do I go about getting in there?"

"You walk in and don't say anything," John said. "You're not really allowed to speak inside."

"Hm," Richard said, mulling over that particular bit of information. "Alright then, I think I have a plan, but I need you there with me."

"Me? Why?"

"Because I think I'm a bit less likely to get arrested if you're there."

"Is there anything I need to do?"

"Show up," Richard said with a shrug.

"So, all I have to do is show up and I can help bother Mycroft and possibly see you get arrested at the same time?" John asked.

"Yeah, that's the gist of it," Richard said with a shrug. "Will you come?"

"What time will you be leaving?"

Richard smiled, just a bit. "Tomorrow, at about two thirty, I think. I'll text you the address."

"You don't have my number," John said, seeing Richard picking up his bags and making now move to get out a cell phone.

"As far as all but four people in this city know, I'm Jim Moriarty, which means it's going to be painfully easy for me to find," Richard said. "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't be late."

A/N: Saw Hermitage today… I feel just wrung out after that. Thankfully I've been thinking about this chapter since yesterday. A bit of Norwegian Black Rock Music and some apple juice and I'm good to write. I love all of you for your reviews. You're darlings.