Inspector Lestrade had worked in the business of crime longer than Watson had, longer than Holmes had as well. At least he thought so. That being said he had watched Lestrade be surprised again and again by Holmes's solutions to a myriad of complicated crimes that Lestrade, through all of his professional experience, had managed to overlook. Watson had always enjoyed, perhaps a bit regrettably, watching Holmes get the better of the inspector but he found that accomplishing the feat himself alone was much more enjoyable.

"Moran?" Lestrade gaped with barely restrained disbelief. "Moran and Moriarty? I would never have guessed it!"

"Neither would I," Watson agreed. "His entry in Holmes's index reads like the career of an admirable soldier. Not a stitch of tendencies toward the criminal at all."

Lestrade nodded. "That's precisely what I thought! He is a member of a very prominent club, he does charity work, he is still somewhat active in his old regiment. I honestly cannot see where he has time for deviant behaviour. Now or before."

That had been the idea all along, Watson knew. A couple had walked by the restaurant where he and the inspector were enjoying a more than satisfactory luncheon. They appeared to be a perfectly decent couple, certainly a lady and a gentleman, and no one would ever think to associate them with criminality.

A young boy selling papers who had witnessed them attempting to steal his earnings had had the entire street up in arms. Lestrade had not needed to step in, a local beat constable had taken care of everything, but it illustrated the issue of Colonel Sebastian Moran. As long as no one looked his way, as long as he was careful, no one would discover his true nature. Holmes had discovered it and now he was threatened because of it. Watson knew he was certainly in jeopardy himself and by extension he was placing Lestrade into the same situation. Lestrade had waved his concern off but Watson worried nevertheless. It was one thing to risk his life. It was quite another to ask another to risk his.

"He wasn't mentioned in the reports at all," Lestrade continued on in between mouthfuls of salad. Perhaps the inspector thought the speed at which he reached the bottom of his salad would correspond to the speed of which he would understand how his people had failed to miss the existence of the most important member of Moriarty's gang. "Though why should I expect it," he finally decided. "We discussed this earlier: Moran was never meant to be found. Never would have been found if it hadn't been for you, doctor."

The words were amiable but his face was the picture of self loathing. "I wouldn't have known if I hadn't been searching for my copy of "A Tale of Two Cities" " he reminded his friend. "We were both fooled. Only Holmes knew and he obviously was and is not in a position to let us know or he'd have done so."

"If only we knew what that position was!" Lestrade lamented. He set his fork down, obviously defeated by the pile of greenery before him. "Holmes's brother said nothing?" he asked again. "Didn't even acknowledge anything?"

Watson shook his head. "Not a word. He was convinced it was more my own delusions than anything else." Watson paused and took a sip of his coffee, nearly yelping at how hot it was. "I don't believe him though," he said in between sips from the glass of water a vigilant waiter had provided. "He must know something."

Lestrade nodded determinedly and waved the same waiter down again and asked for the bill. "I say we go over there together, you and I, and try again."

"I don't imagine that will help," Watson said as lightly as he could. "No offence intended, Lestrade, but I think that the presence of an officer of the law will make him less likely to talk."

"Why would you imagine that?"

Because I believe contempt toward the official police is a trait that runs in the Holmes family, Watson thought. Instead he merely shrugged and stated his concerns again. Lestrade huffed a huff of almost Holmes-esque nature and urged Watson along as he once again covered the tab.

- - -

"I warned you, did I not?"

Lestrade appeared to be on the verge of saying something truly foul but contented himself with grinding his teeth in a most annoying manner. "I have never met such a frustrating person and that includes our mutual friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Had the circumstances not been so frustrating Watson would have burst out laughing and asked for him to sign a paper to that effect. He settled with simply being somewhat amused through the frustration of Mycroft refusing to cooperate. It was an admirable trait that Mycroft was so dedicated to protecting his brother but he had hoped that Mycroft would have felt free to disclose any sort of information with two of his brother's associates. Apparently that had been too much to ask and the elder Holmes had been incredibly annoyed by his routine being disturbed yet again. Especially on a fool's errand and a sorry set of delusions as he had said; along with a few choice other insults that had Watson even more convinced that he and Lestrade were right.

"Holmes, Sherlock I mean," Watson said to Lestrade as the other man readied to commence a rant on the subject of Watson's treatment, "would always viciously insult me when he was trying to protect me or keep me out of something. I'm willing to wager that Mycroft functions along the same lines."

Lestrade considered that for a moment and then shook his head in resigned frustration. "Is it simply in the Holmes's bloodline to be so damned insufferable?"

He had to smile at that. "I believe the evidence speaks for itself."

A snort was all the reply the inspector gave. "I ought to have him for obstruction of justice."

"That wouldn't work and you know it."

"I know, but it is a tempting thought." Lestrade smiled and then glanced at his watch. "I'd best be heading back to the Yard. Aside from this state of affairs I've got a fair pile of paperwork to get through."

Watson nodded. "I should do the same. Doctor Grant has been far too accommodating as it is."

"Abandoning your practice in favour of criminal investigation? Just like the old days." One corner of the inspector's mouth lifted. "I hope they will return soon." A cab rounded the corner and with a tip of his hat, and an order to wire him at the slightest news, he was gone.

Watson was keenly aware of his solitude. It was a state of affairs that he had been so used to over the past two years but now it was both unwanted and unsafe. He was supremely vigilant during his walk back to his practice and was partly unsurprised to be confronted by Colonel Moran before reaching it. What surprised and frightened him, and he tried desperately to keep Moran from knowing that, was that they were currently located in front of the bookstore. And the proprietor of said bookstore in the process of drawing the blinds and would, thus, be able to see and possibly hear anything that transpired.

Moran wasted no time. "I said I do not believe you and my opinion is unchanged." A hunter's triumphant grin crossed his face. "I believe you are protecting him. You know exactly where he is and, I assure you, it would be in your best interests to tell me."

Watson did not have to turn his head to know that that the figure in the store had stopped pulling the blinds. He could not afford to turn his head. As much as he had discovered there was far more that he did not know. He did not know if the location of this altercation was chosen deliberately or not. He did know if Holmes had any idea of what Watson knew. Despite the gravity of the situation Watson could not help but wonder if Holmes could decipher everything from the way he was standing and the way he was not answering right away.

Moran picked up on that as well. "You have nothing to say to that, I see."

"I have nothing to say because one does not answer insanity." He liked that one, Watson decided. Mycroft Holmes did have some interesting turns of phrase.

The colonel did not seem to appreciate it. Moran's face remained the picture of civility but his eyes, those horrible eyes, showed the demon within. "You really believe he is dead then?"

"Where else would he be?" Watson asked angrily. "He's been gone for two years."

"He has not been declared dead though," Moran countered. "And you visited Baker Street today for the first time in two years. Has he returned with instructors for his vigilant lieutenant?"

That was a shocking thing to hear. That he truly had never been alone, that one of the most dangerous men in London had kept his eye on him. That explained Moran's appearance as a patient. It was perfect and Watson had always kept an unvarying schedule. His habits had changed which meant something had changed. He prayed Mrs. Hudson would come to no harm from this. He would warn her as soon as he got out of this.

Watson glared at his antagonist. "I have received no 'orders' as you call them. There are no orders to receive because the person you are referring to is dead! Now I have no idea what you want with him or me but I assure you that he is dead. Any score you had to settle with him cannot be settled and you have none with me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have urgent business to attend to."

Moran did not even attempt to stop him and Watson kept walking straight ahead. His gut twisted with the fear that Moran would suddenly draw a revolver and shoot him in the back. He reached his practice without incident though. He drew the blinds and nearly collided with Eliza Martingrove as she was on her way out. "Something the matter, sir?" She studied him for a moment. "It's That Man again isn't it?"

He didn't bother replying. "You pass by a telegraph office on the way home do you not?"

"Ah…yes, I—Doctor what are you doing?!"

He did not bother talking to his maid. He simply attacked his desk and grabbed two telegraph forms. On one he wrote a warning to Mrs. Hudson to keep her guard up, and perhaps go visit her sister for a while. On the other he wrote a plea for Inspector Lestrade to come to his practice immediately and to come armed. He thrust them into Eliza's hands. "Send these on your way, please." Eliza barely had time to give her assurances as Watson shoved her to out to the garden and ordered to take extreme care when walking home, and to take some time off. He would contact her when she was free to return.

Once Eliza was gone he drew closed any more shutters and curtains. Soon enough he was alone in the dark with his old service revolver at his side. His heart pumping faster than it had in recent memory. The old life was back but he was far from ready for it. He was also alone this was something he had never happened in the old days.

"Lestrade will arrive soon," he said with a slight breathless quiver to the empty room. "Lestrade will arrive soon."

That was what Watson said but the only person whom he really wanted to see at that moment was Sherlock Holmes.