The man named Chris McGraw was apprehended at noon in two days. Sherlock and Sherrinford went to talk to the man at the station as Lestrade was waiting outside the door. Since Sherrinford was the one who pretended to work for Moriarty as a double agent, he knew of this man and insisted on coming. Especially after what happened to his girlfriend or at least what could have happened. When the two brothers stood in front of a raggedy-looking man with sandy-brown hair, a strong face and rough, blue eyes.

"So," McGraw began in a low, amusing voice with a smile. "The two Holmes brothers come together." He glared at Sherrinford on the detective's right. "Bastard," he spat.

"You should keep to death threats," he dryly retorted.

He growled, then looked at the detective. "I'll take you want information on Moriarty."

"How could you possibly think that?" Sherlock sarcastically asked.

"Never cease to amaze?" His brother dryly asked.

"Never," he muttered, knowing that he was talking about the criminal's obviousness.

McGraw shook his head in annoyance. "You two won't make me talk at all. There's no way I'm betraying Moriarty like you-"

Sherlock sighed, raising his head. "You also know that you are facing prison for life and you know that Moriarty won't bust you out. You don't want to believe that, however, and you can't afford to leave your girlfriend behind because you care about her, even though you cheated on her three times in the past two years. If you do tell us, it may reduce your sentence, but don't be surprised if it doesn't and I suggest you tell us because my brother can make it look like you broke your nose on accident." He glared at the criminal. "May I go on?"

He shook his head with worry. "I'll tell you what you need to know."

The two brothers simultaneously pulled up two chairs and took a seat.

Sherlock lean forward, locking his eyes on the man's, placing his fingertips together, and darkly asked, "What is he planning?"

When they were done with the interrogating, they calmly walked out of the room, closing the door behind them.

"So how did it go?" Lestrade asked.

"We got what we want," Sherlock answered, turning his gaze to the detective-inspector. "If things go in our favor, Moriarty might come to us."

"So," Lestrade looked confused, "we have to wait?"

"Not really. Since we got the messenger, all we need is the bomber."

"Moriarty."

"Exactly." He was about to walk away, but remembered something. "Oh, the criminal was trying to escape and fell out of his chair so he has a broken nose, by the way."

"Wha-"

He began to briskly walk away with his brother following. "Good day, Granger."

"It's Greg!"

When Sherrinford joined his side, the detective smirked at him. "How was the punch of revenge?"

"Bloody awful," he murmured, give his right hand a shake. "But worth it."

The two brothers smiled, chuckling to each other as they heeded to Baker Street.

After Sherrinford dropped his little brother off at the flat, Sherlock made his way inside, closing the door just as Mrs. Hudson came with with a sealed envelope. "Oh, Sherlock," she said, approaching him, handing it to him. "This came in for you about an hour ago."

"Why not give it to John to hold on?" It was unusual to have the landlady wait until the detective returned home to give him mail as she would give it to John to hold on to. He inspected his own name on the front written in black ink of a calligraphy pen. Clearly, the deliverer wanted to be classy about it.

"The gentleman told me to give it to you only."

He looked at her with stern curiosity. "What gentleman?"

She shrugged, not understanding what he meant. "Just a man."

"Was he blonde?"

"I think so. Do you know him?"

"Is John home?" He asked looking at the older woman with stern eyes, hoping that he didn't know that Moran, his wife's killer, was in the same building.

"Yes." She then sadly sighed. "Poor John. He seems so lost without Mary. And that poor child…" She took a heavy sigh, "never knew her mother. Oh, I hope you find the killer soon, Sherlock. It's-"

He tore the envelope open, taking out a note. Blocking out the landlady's words, he began to read:

I see that you caught McGraw, but how will that help you? Considering that you have no idea what move to make, I shall make another move.

-M xox

Without another thought, he hurried up the stairs, not listening to a word of Mrs. Hudson. Getting to his flat, he practically threw his door open, marching in. "Moriarty is going to make another move."

John looked at his with disbelief of annoyance as he was holding a sleeping Emily on the couch.

Sherlock winced as he slowly closed the door. "Sorry," he said in a hushed tone.

"What did you find out from the man?" he asked, just wanting to get an answer and not ideas or plans. Just answers.

The detective sighed, knowing that his best friend was internally suffering from the loss of his wife and wanting her murderer to be put away for life or even dead as he still speaks and thinks of revenge nonsense. "By 'bringing England to its knees' Moriarty means that he is going to blow something up. Something big!" He began to pace, remembering McGraw's grim words.

"How big?" John uneasily questioned, not taking his eyes off the pacing man.

He stopped pacing, slowly turning his head to his friend and answered in low, baritone voice, "Buckingham Palace big."

"Oh, Christ," John whispered, rubbing his face with his free hand. Then looked at him with wide, frustrated eyes. "How the hell are we going to stop him considering he nearing kill three people in one hour?" He nearly yelled, remembering that his daughter was asleep.

He raised letter that he received. "Moriarty sent me this and something tells me we'll meet him face-to-face before anything happens."

He pointed a finger at the detective. "You better tell Mycroft."

"I don't want to worry him," he murmured, not wanting to admit as he tossed the letter on the desk like a feather.

"Sherlock," he snapped.

He looked at him. "I'll tell him… Eventually."