Only a mere day had past since Sherlock had learnt about Moriarty's big plan and knew that he had to be stopped. The detective still didn't want to tell Mycroft about it as he did not want to worry his eldest brother yet, but time was running short and the phychopathic criminal was still at large, and over the map of London, was a large question mark, asking where the criminal was located. Sherrinford would contact the detective, anxiously trying to get an answer from his brother, but of course, the answer was the same and he nervously understood.

In the meantime, John would still fester in rage, hungry for revenge and Sebastian Moran, his wife's murderer, was still at large. He knew that Emily Sherlock Watson was keeping him sane, but the revenge was too strong. Mary, his beloved and wonderful wife, was taken too early from him. At least he still had Emily, that was all that he could ask for. While his friend was sitting in the kitchen working on a experiment, he was just sitting on the couch with his baby in his arms.

"John?" Sherlock called as he opened the fridge.

"Yeah?"

"Can you go to the store and get some milk?"

"Are you serious?" He called in disbelief. "We just got some."

"Ran out." He closed the fridge, disappointed that there wasn't a single drop of milk.

"How?"

"We used it?" He asked as if it was an obvious question, standing up straight.

John walked to the kitchen entrance with his baby in his arms. "Already? It was like five days ago we bought one milk."

Sherlock just looked at him. "Can you just go get the milk? Would you please do that for me?"

His friend just stared at him.

Then the detective's eyes grew wide in horror. "John. I didn't mean to-"

The doctor took a deep breath, walking away.

Fearing what he had just said, he trotted to his friend. "John. I didn't realize-"

His friend looked at him with pain-filled and stern eyes. "I thought I lost you once, Sherlock," his voice was quiet as he was staring the detective in the eyes. "I just lost Mary… The last thing I want is a reminder that my best friend supposedly died, especially when there is a madman trying to destroy England!" He shouted and his baby began to whine, causing him to quickly apologetically soothe her.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I know," he said, trying to calm his friend down. "I know. I didn't mean it like that."

John nodded. "I know," he sighed. Then he shook his head. "I just don't want to lose anymore people."

"And you won't," he promised, making his friend look him dead in the eye. "I'll go to the store real quick. You stay and do… Fatherly… Things." With that, he grabbed his coat and scarf and walked out of the door, reminding himself to be careful of what to say.


Shoving the dark reminder of his friends death, John was just patiently waiting for his friend to return as he sat in the armchair, until his phone rang. Standing up, he walked to the table and picked up his ringing phone to a unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"I know you miss her," a man's dark voice came through.

"Who is this?" His voice dropped, knowing that it was the murderer.

"You know, John, you just don't want to admit it."

He took a deep breath. "Moran," he said as if he was a snake spitting out venom.

"Oh, you are clever." It sounded like he was smiling in amusement, then became serious. "I know you want revenge. I've been watching you, John Watson."

"Good," he stated emotionlessly, holding back the anger. "Where do we meet, so I could blow your brains out?"

Moran chuckled. "Patience. All in good time, Dr. Watson. It's still being planned as well as your demise."

"The only one dying is you," he dangerously whispered, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "And if your boss thinks about blowing up Buckingham Palace, he's wrong. Damned wrong. There is no way in Hell that is going to happen."

"Don't you remember what my boss even said first? 'Make Sherlock suffer, and then bring England to its knees.' Don't you get it?"

The doctor began piecing things together. "So if I die, and Sherlock suffers… Moriarty blows up Buckingham."

"Now you're getting it."

God, he sounded like a dry Moriarty.

"That still doesn't mean I wont to kill you," John stated, not thinking about his own words, just the pain of losing his wife and the mother of his child.

"I knew you were going to say that," Moran's voice was dangerous. "But do you really want to leave your baby as an orphan."

Anger began to rise. "I am not going to die!" He practically shouted, knowing that he was not. There was no way he was going to leave Emily alone- even though she had her Godfather- but her mother's murderer was not going to continue to live. Both were a promise and one was only driving him mad, blinding his sense, blinding what he truly had left, but the pain was too much and after the murderer was dead, then he would be able to rest.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Then the line went dead.

John hung up, feeling more determined than ever to kill this man.


About ten minutes later, Sherlock returned to the flat with a jug of milk in a bag and to John causally sitting on the armchair. "Anything happened?" He asked his blogger.

"Ah… No," he answered.

Giving a small shrug, the detective headed to the kitchen to put the milk away, starting to boil water for tea.


There will be some hiatus going on right now, but I am still working on the story.