Many different POV in this chapter. Enjoy!


John was sitting on the couch in his house absentmindedly watching the TV. It was hard to focus his attention on anything but in the scene that took place in his best friend's place the day before. By now it was far obvious how Sherlock felt about the criminal, he was in too deep. He tried to focus on the TV, a great deal with a disappearing of some important jewel from the renaissance time. 'Must've been him' he thought. Usually it'd have been something that could catch his eye, but not now, he just didn't seem to care.

He was brought to reality when he heard a knock at the door, quickly he turned off the TV and went to open the door to his and Mary's flat.

John is mildly surprised to see Mycroft at the other side of the door. He should have expected it really…

"Good morning John, may I come in?"

He considers.

"Yeah, yes of course."

They both enter the flat and Mycroft sits on a chair next to the coffee table, where John leaded him. John sits opposite of him on a couch.

"So… what's bringing you up here?" He knew.

"You know why I'm here." He smiles not at all amused.

"Oh! Sorry, do you want anything?" he starts to stand up.

"No. Thanks." John sits back down. "I only came here to chat."

"Alright."

"Is Mrs. Watson home?" He asked politely obviously knowing the answer.

"She's having a shower, we can wait for her if you want, it won't be long…"

"Not necessary, this will be quick."


Neither Sherlock nor Jim slept that night. The latter had to restrain the need to withdraw a big plan he'd been planning for weeks about the robbery of Ms. María Francisca Olivé's Ruby necklace. She is a Spanish young woman whose necklace was given to her from past generations and not only the jewel, but the story behind it made the black market willing to pay anything for it, really, a lot.

The plan got perfectly done, the young lady only realized its lost two hours later.

He thought that'd be something interesting for the detective to work on. Yes, he'd love that.

Maybe in tomorrow's newspapers he'd see that and maybe, just maybe, think of him. Perhaps he'd appreciate the great case and think of him, but only as his nemesis, because that's the way the detective needed him for. He needs the challenge, the thrill. Just that, only that, because that's the way it works, the only way it always did.

In his bed, he blinked away the tears, feeling disgusted with himself, with those emotions. Feeling ashamed of the fact that a part of him expected something good at all, he never felt more naïve, because even now he still did.

The next day, Jim passed through Baker St. by his own, he thought about going there again, but decided it was stupid.

Still, he was there the following day and the next, and the next. Always at night, when he was free from all the crime of the day, he was there. Because that's exactly what he did, just go there, nothing else. Of course he wasn't stupid enough to go as "himself" exactly. He wasn't being guarded so the least he could do was to put on a character, one he used before, the "cabbie". Nobody pays attention to them right? That's what he needed, he had attracted too much of attention by staying at Sherlock's place, he knew the British Government would let the doors of the bank, the prison and the Tower of London open before letting his little brother get hurt. That was not the case but, who could blame him anyways?

He started to wonder how people handled the humiliation of dealing with these kind of feelings every day, with being so careless with themselves, because he had never felt more sick in his life.


John kept his gaze, waiting impatiently for the other to start speaking.

"I have been informed that James Moriarty was in 221B yesterday." The elder Holmes started. "And, of course, that you were there as well."

The doctor wasn't sure whether to say something, so he just waited.

"Now, I do have to admit I knew they have seen each other maybe a couple of times after James came back from his… absence." He continued. "Nevertheless, it caught my attention that he stayed the night there. So please John, do tell me anything you know about this."

John could see that Mycroft was worried, not visibly, but in the Holmes way. He hesitated about saying anything, but after all, he trusted him, he had proved him that much and perhaps leaving this to Mycroft was the best choice there was at the moment.

"Look," he started. "I honestly don't know much more than what you just told me. Yes, we saw Moriarty there but I don't know why exactly." He guessed.


Jim was right. Sherlock knew it was his case and smiled to himself after reading it in the paper. Though when Greg asked him to join in the team, he pretended it was boring and a waste of time, for once he wanted a regular case, one that didn't involve Jim, one that could take him out of his head for a while.

Since the moment Jim left the flat, he didn't stop regretting what he had said, in fact on the fifth day after that, he believed he regretted it more than ever.

It was early midnight, Sherlock stared outside the window, no seeing anything in particular, only feeling the brushing of the strings beneath his fingers, this time considering not to upset Mrs. Hudson –the night before he was making horrible annoying ear-wrenching sounds with it, he even damaged one string, so he got an unpleasant visit from her landlady at 4 AM, who, he realized, could have the dirtiest of mouths when pissed.-

This time it was a sad harmony, it could've made cry anyone who listened to it. But he didn't, because he was drowning in his thoughts.

He was certain he could stay like that the entire night, just playing, and letting go. Instead he came back to reality when he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice, over the door, he instantly thought she was going to scold him again, but that wasn't the case.

"Sherlock! Don't you listen?! There's a fire next door!"

He stopped playing, he came back entirely, there was a lot of noise outside, and yelling and a fire alarm.

"Oh, so?"

"So?! We should go help dear! Besides it could reach here, let's go!"

He put the violin down.

"It won't reach here, it's nothing, I don't even smell anything burning"

"Sherlock you either come by yourself or I get you." She sounded deadly, even more than the past night.

He tried to argue but there was no point at all.

"Fine." He stood up sulkily. And went to the street with her.

As soon as they got to the street there was a lot of people observing and panicking, and he overheard Mrs. Hudson talking to a neighbor.

"Martha don't worry, my husband and a few others checked the house and there's no one there, I think they're on vacation or something, it was nothing just a few papers got burned in there nothing to worry about, they cancelled the alert."

"Oh mine, thank God Lily…"

He was going to go inside again when something a few yards from him caught his eye, he couldn't see well because of all the people gathered together, but he knew him, it looked like him but different, from the little he could observe… he narrowed his eyes trying to find a logical explanation to what, actually who he was seeing.

"Sherlock you were right, we should go back inside, I'm really tired and I have to do the shopping tomorrow morning"

He lost his focus for a second and when he tried to find him again, there was no one there. He found himself in the flat once again two minutes later, completely confused.

Something didn't fit. That couldn't have been him, right?

Although…

"…I think they're on vacation" , "…just a few papers got burned in there nothing to worry about."

That man.

Could it be? He wrung out his brain trying to convince himself that it couldn't, that the person over there, who disappeared in that specific moment, wasn't Jim Moriarty. Because nothing good could come out of that.

He'd been right, that was nothing, not a fire, but something more complex than that.

Mycroft.


On the fifth night Jim still continued with his plan of, not doing anything really, just passing over and pretending to be somebody else, he was so good at that.

He was driving over the blocks trying to be careful not to seek unwanted attention. That night he had decided that it was the last, he was aware of how pathetic what he was doing was, wandering over your cru… significant other 's house too afraid to actually go to him was not something that would look good on such a malicious criminal.

However what he was lately losing was his cool temper, something that you need in situations like these.

He didn't remember where or when he left the cab and was running over to a frantic crowd near 221. He remembered someone yelling "fire!" but it was all too blurry, he didn't feel like himself, the plan was to be undercover, to stay out of sight, not this, never this.

The feeling of calmness that he felt when he saw Sherlock on the crowd lasted less than two seconds, because a second after he couldn't see him anymore a person grabbed him by his arms and another one covered his mouth with a damp cloth.

Before losing consciousness he thought Sherlock might have seen him. And that maybe it was the last time they saw each other.

He hated Sherlock, he hated himself, Moriarty wouldn't be in this situation, Moriarty would've left that place a long time ago. He hated that Moriarty was long gone now.


"So..." he continued, the elder Holmes seemed very decided to go into his soul and mind with only his eyes. "that's what happened."

"You must have your opinion John." Mycroft pressured.

John felt nervous, still not entirely sure about doing the right thing.

"Tell me everything you know."


A/N: Sorrysorrysorrysorry.
Before anything I'd like to point out that I'm not trying to make Mycroft and John the bad guys, they're just really stupidly(well... it's Jim) worried.
P.S: Promise it'll get better ! Love the reviews 3