A/N: Just a warning that John uses a naughty word in this chapter. Just one. But I thought I'd let you know so it didn't come as a shock. Oh, and hold onto your feels everyone (Especially you MorbidbyDefault)

Burning Hearts

Chapter 8

Henry had his face buried in the cushions of the big brown sofa in Mr Jim's living room. He didn't like it. It smelt funny and felt funny on his face. It was smooth, but not comfortable. Not like the sofa at Mummy's. It was made of something funny. Mumma's sofa was made out of normal stuff, like what clothes were made out of. This sofa was made out of the same stuff as Uncle Greg's jacket, it just wasn't as comfortable.

He felt it dip as someone sat beside him. "Please stop crying, little prince"

Henry did what he asked, remembering what his mother had told him about being a good boy and not getting into any trouble. He looked up. Mr Jim was smiling down at him.

"That's better" Jim smiled, patting the young boy on the back. "It's much better when you are not crying"

Henry took a deep breath and bit his lip to stop any more tears. He wanted to keep crying. He had been ok before, but then he had heard his Mumma and wanted to go home. He didn't want to spend any more time with Mr Jim today.

He didn't know if he liked Mr Jim all that much. First he was nice, buying him lollies and letting him eat Spaghetti for dinner, they had even watched a movie about a girl with really long hair who went on an adventure and sang songs. But that was last night. Today he yelled on the phone, and Mumma always says it's not nice to yell. Especially since Mr Jim had yelled at his mum.

"I want mumma" Henry whispered. He wanted to give her a big hug and make sure that she wasn't upset that Mr Jim had yelled at her.

"I know you do" Jim patted him gently on the head. "I know you do. But I can't let you go back yet."

"When?" Henry asked. Jim shrugged.

"That's hard to say" Jim responded slowly. "It will depend on when your daddy comes over to play"

Henry cocked his head to the side, confused. He knew what a daddy was. All of his friends from day care all had daddies (except for his best friend Max, whose daddy had gone to heaven). Henry didn't have a daddy though.

Mumma said always told him there were many different types of family in the world, and she had made sure she put together the best one before he was born. He didn't have a daddy, but he had Mumma who loved him. He also had Uncle John who looked after him, and Aunt Mary who was nice and always let him have an extra biscuit (even sometimes when Mumma said no, but that was a secret between Aunt Mary and Henry). He didn't need a Daddy because he had Mrs Hudson who smelled like flowers and gave really good cuddles and Uncle Greg, who kept bad people away, checking under his bed for bad stuff sometimes. Uncle Mycroft had a really fast car so he was really cool too. He had all them, so he didn't need a daddy.

But Mr Jim kept talking about his daddy. Henry didn't get it.

"Your daddy and I are friends" Moriarty explained. "We used to see each other all of the time. We would play games. Like Cops and Robbers and Hide and Seek. We used to love doing puzzles together as well."

Henry nodded. He liked playing those games too. Max always won Hide and Seek, but Henry was the best at Cops and Robbers, because Uncle Greg told him how to be a real police officer once.

"Then one day we had a disagreement, and even though we were still playing, it wasn't the same anymore" Jim looked down at Henry sadly. "Does that ever happen to you?"

Henry didn't understand the question so he shook his head.

"Of course not" Jim laughed. "Children are so innocent. You don't really fight. Not the way adults do. See, that's what happened, your daddy and I had a fight. A big one. Does your mummy ever give you an ultimatum Henry? Sorry, does she ever make you choose. Like, clean up your toys or you won't get any ice cream"

Henry nodded. Mumma said that sometimes.

"I said something like that to your daddy. It was silly" Jim sighed. "And then we weren't allowed to see each other anymore."

"You could say sorry" Henry suggested weakly. Miss Samantha at day care always says that everything will be better after saying sorry. Maybe that was what Mr Jim and his dad, whoever the man was, needed to do.

"I could" Jim admitted. "But I don't want to. I just want to get back to our game. To pick it all up where we left off."

Sherlock perched himself on the side of Molly's bed. Molly lay still, her eyes open, unblinking. She had her back to him, and he had his back to her. This was one of the weirdest situations he had ever been in.

"I am sorry" he mumbled. He guessed that was a good place to start.

Molly scoffed and pulled the pillow from the other side of the bed over her face.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. What to do. He had realised, at some point that he had stumbled across a social faux pas. Mary had explained, quite cuttingly, he would add, that you do not get in the way of a mother's grief. This was Molly's home, Molly's life and Molly's son and how dare he tell her what to do.

It had gotten to the point that John had almost had to step in and restrain a second woman that day.

Despite the instruction against giving her instructions, he found himself telling her what to do again anyway. "Never hit a man with a closed fist."

Threw the pillow off her head and glared at him.

"I am novice in the realm of sentiment" it was a statement. He meant it not as an apology. Not as an explanation. Not as a reminder. It was just there.

"I've observed" Molly reluctantly responded. Sherlock hid a smirk at her choice in words.

"However, I still obsess over puzzles. Henry is my newest puzzle"

"He is not a puzzle, he is my son"

Molly had sat up and the movement shocked him. He reached out, flinching slightly as he thought she might move to hit him again. His hand hung awkwardly in the air between them.

"Poor choice of words" he admitted. "This situation is the puzzle."

"I must prepare to return to Bart's" Sherlock informed, standing from the bed. He looked down at the woman who was finally looking back at him. "I will not rest until Henry is returned to you"

Footsteps behind him in the hallway shocked him. He looked over his shoulder, watching as Molly pulled her coat on over the top of her shirt. "You think I am not coming with you?"

Sherlock paused. They were now at the end of the hallway closest to the living room. The sound of their approach had alerted the others in the room, all of whom were now watching them intently.

"You're not following me Molly" Sherlock stated with a tone of finality in his voice.

"Give me one reason why not?"

"Because it's not safe, that's why" Lestrade interrupted, stepping into Molly's view. Molly shook her head at him. "Molly, you're not going…"

"Back off Greg" Molly shot, glaring at him. "This is Henry we are talking about. You can't stop me from going."

John knew better then to get in the way. There was nothing he could possibly say that would get through to her, even if he wanted to agree with Greg.

"I can" Sherlock replied. "You're not coming."

"Why not?" she demanded, hands on her hips, challenging him. Where oh where had his shy little Molly gone? he wondered. "And don't you dare say 'because I said so'"

Sherlock looked over his shoulder briefly at the audience they now had before turning back to Molly, stepping towards her and lowering his mouth so that it was almost at her ear. What he was about to admit would be easier without the others eavesdropping. "Because I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."

And with an overdramatic turn and billowing of his coat, Sherlock Holmes left her apartment. John Watson hot on his tail. Just like old times.

After a few minutes of calculating, Jim found just the right spot. He had walked past it about three times in his attempt to remember that day perfectly, but now he was sure he had found the spot. In fact, if he looked very carefully, he could see the outline of 'his' blood still on the ground.

He stretched out, and waited.

When Sherlock pushed through the door to the roof of St Bart's, the first thing he saw, as expected, as James Moriarty. He lay on his back, one arm outstretched, the other gripping his gun. The exact same position he had been in the day they had both faked their deaths. Sherlock flashed to the day he had watched Jim put the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. How did he survive it?

"My favourite playmate" Jim greeted, not looking at him. Not even moving.

John reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding the grip of his own gun. He had been surprised to find his old weapon at the bottom of his overnight bag. It was no exaggeration when he said that Mary thought of everything.

"Release your weapon, Doctor"

John did as he was told. Sherlock glanced at him, his brow knit quizzically as if to ask 'you still carry a gun?'

"I was just reminiscing" Jim sing-songed. "Of the last time we were here. The puzzle it left us with. Is it time yet? Do I get to know how you did it?"

"If this is all you wanted, a discussion of tactics, why did you not just track me down?" Sherlock asked. "Why are you involving Henry?"

Jim laughed, sitting up casually, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Why Sherlock? Are you suggesting you don't get it? I am burn…"

"You're burning the heart out of me." Sherlock concluded.

"Yes" Jim stood. "You told me once that it was popular opinion that you didn't have a heart. What a lie! I knew from the beginning that you had a heart, but silly me, I thought your heart was the good doctor here"

John stood taller under the scrutiny of the mad man before him.

"And as your best friend, he is your heart. Part of it, at least. But I kept tabs on you, dear Sherlock. You didn't take John with you on your adventure. Or Lestrade. Or that landlady of yours. You didn't take them. But you took something, didn't you. You took someone."

John was confused. Irene?

Jim reached into his pocket and removed a glossy photograph. He held it up for his companions to see. Henry and Molly, the day the child had been born. The same photograph that had been taken from his email account.

"Everyone else was in your mind. But Dr Hooper and the child, they were your heart."

Jim took out another photograph, this time a surveillance one. It showed Sherlock sitting at the end of some unknown bed in an unknown town, studying the photograph of his son.

"I won't hurt them." Jim replied, returning the photographs to his pocket. "And by them I mean Molly and the child. Can't make any promises for the others."

Sherlock watched as Jim made a move to leave. "Is your mobile number the same Holmes? I'll contact you with the next set of instructions. I must dash, have to head home, it's almost tea time and that spawn of yours does love his spaghetti."

It wasn't until Jim left that John said anything "Why are we not going after him?"

"You've forgotten how he operates, haven't you?" Sherlock asked, pacing the rooftop. "He says he won't harm Henry, however I am not willing to risk it"

John watched, baffled. He had forgotten what it was like to trust Sherlock Holmes completely, because that was the dumbest idea. He glanced to the door Moriarty had just exited through. He wanted to chase him, tackle him and beat the truth out of him. Why were they just standing there? Why was Sherlock just standing there? On St. Bart's roof? On the ledge?

Blinking, John realised that that was exactly what his friend was doing. His heart stopped and restarted, pounding so hard he felt it would give way. Sherlock had climbed up onto the ledge of the hospital, standing in the exact spot, almost to the centremetre, that he had been the day…

"Sherlock, get down, now!" John stated clearly over the sound of his heart in his ears. "This instant!"

Sherlock ignored him.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock outstretched his hand. The air whipped around his face the way that it had that day. It was an unusual feeling. The repetition of a past event. The feeling of falling… backwards.

Sherlock Holmes landed heavily on the roof of Bart's. John had grabbed him around the middle and thrown him to safety. Sherlock had no time to recover before John's fist smashed into his nose.

"You fucking idiot!" John growled, pulling his fist back and slamming it into his face again. "/What do you think you are doing? Did you think that was funny? Cute? Huh? Standing up there? Making me watch you stand there again?'

The third punch resulted in an echoing crack. John stopped punching after that. Collapsing onto the roof of Bart's beside his friend.

Thirty seconds passed before John whispered. "Don't you ever do anything like that again, you hear me, never again!"

Sherlock was alarmed. John was crying.

"John?"

"I watched you die!" he bellowed into the air around them, still not turning to look at his friend. "I watched you jump. I watched you fall. I saw you just after you landed."

"But I am here now?"

"And for nearly three years, you weren't" John replied, pulling his jumper over his hand to wipe this face angrily with it. "I mourned for you."

Sherlock had never mourned. Even when his own father had died he didn't feel much about it. The idea of John mourning for him was alien.

"I stopped eating, stopped sleeping" John told him, and at the admittance, Sherlock felt a weird twisting in his stomach. "I cried for you Sherlock, and my god, they were not manly tears, not in the slightest."

"I am sorry" Sherlock said. He thought that was what he was supposed to say in this situation. There really was no data to help with a conversation like this.

He was sorry. That was all he got. An 'I am sorry'. After john had cried, gotten sick, defending his dead friends memory, supported the deceased sociopaths lover during the pregnancy and pretty much been the strongest male role model Henry had. All he was going to get was an 'Iam sorry'?

John stood to leave. He wanted to go. To leave Sherlock there on the roof. He wanted to go back to Molly's and collapse into the arms of Mary.

"You know why I did it" John stopped, halfway between the door and Sherlock. He did not turn back to his friend. Sherlock continued to speak to his retreating back. "But do you want to know how?"

Thanks for continuing to read and review guys!

And I just wanted to let you know that I am working on a few other pieces, some possibly linked to this one, others being all new stories, so keep your eyes peeled.