A/N: Well, I'm done filling in as manager at work, but the busiest time of year for us is really soon, so another update might not happen immediately. I'm hoping to wrap this up within the next few chapters, so the month and a half of insanity shouldn't have a huge impact.
Just an FYI, I've put a lot of Moriarty headcanon for the show into this, haha. Sorry for such a crackpot ideas.
Thanks again for reading, everyone. Your comments really were great for the last chapter (sorry not sorry about that). I'd like to know, after I finish this arc, would you guys want to read more about Lana? Perhaps her being school aged? I don't know, I like her too much to limit her to just one thing. Any ideas?
Thanks guys! I really appreciate everything!


"Sherlock Holmes, you get up this instant!"

It took an enormous effort, but he finally shoved his eyelids apart. He lethargically turned his head to see Mrs Hudson glaring down at him. She was holding Lana's hand gingerly; the baby had tear stains down her face. A wave of guilt washed over him.

"Lana's told me she's hungry again." Mrs Hudson said, putting a hand on her hip. Sherlock's hands clumsily scrubbed at his face and he cursed under his breath. "I may love this little girl to pieces, but she's your responsibility now." She continued to glare at him.

He pushed himself upright on the couch slowly, finding the movement made him more than a little dizzy. John knew he could hardly feed himself, why had he left him alone with the baby? Mrs Hudson's look softened and she took Lana in the kitchen. Sherlock heard them make sandwiches. His head felt like it was about to split open, his mouth was disgustingly dry and his movements were slow and cumbersome. Dehydrated then. He was fairly certain the last time he had ingested anything was John's funeral nearly four days ago.

Christ, the funeral. What a mess that had been. Mycroft had insisted he go, had even bought Lana a nice dress for the occasion. Of course he had left Sherlock to explain to her where her Daddy was and why he was in a box that was going into the ground. Lana hadn't taken it well, and still didn't understand why her Daddy couldn't just come back with them. A few of the Yarders had showed up to pay their respects. Lestrade stayed close to him and Lana. Donovan, whose appearance had surprised Sherlock, had stayed at the back of the crowd with her head quietly bowed. John's parents had been there, obviously, as had Harry, though they arrived separately. His parents had been disgustingly shocked to find Sherlock holding John's daughter. They said nothing to him and John's father left before the service had even started. Harry and her mother pointedly ignored him, and Sherlock was fine with that. Fewer formalities to deal with. Lydia's parents had shown, too. After the service, they had approached Sherlock and insisted that they take Lana to live with them. His reaction had been loud and violent and a glass had been broken. Mycroft had had to step in and tell them that Sherlock had legal guardianship of the child and that their offer was tempting, but unnecessary. They didn't seem convinced that it was fine to leave Lana with such a volatile man, but Mycroft convinced them he was only in a state because of the recent events, which was mostly true. Sherlock left in a worse mood than he'd arrived in.

"Papa, I made you a sammich!" Lana announced proudly, cutting into his thoughts. She carried a tray with a paper plate and a ham and cheese sandwich on it, a big grin plastered on her face. Most of her baby fat was melting away as she grew every day. Sherlock mentally smacked himself; he was missing so much of her with this sulking. Mrs Hudson followed with a second tray and drinks.

Sherlock couldn't help the upturn of his lips. Lana set the tray on the coffee table and looked expectantly at her Papa. Sherlock felt his breath catch. "Thank you, darling." He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper and he eyed the glasses on Mrs Hudson's tray eagerly. He slid onto the floor and pulled Lana into his lap. The baby pressed gently into him, making his heart soar and ache at the same time.

Mrs Hudson placed her tray on the table, watching them with a loving light in her eye. "You best make sure he drinks his water, Lana." The land lady said playfully. "I'll not have him keel over from dehydration."

"Yes, ma'am." Lana replied politely. Just as John had taught her. Sherlock grabbed Lana's plate and set it on the floor in front of them. Her sandwich was delicately cut in four pieces. She took a piece and began to eat, humming happily to herself. Mrs Hudson smiled down at them sadly and left to go back to her own flat. "You best eat, Sherlock. I won't have that child completely orphaned because of your stubbornness."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed his sandwich to take a bite. His stomach made an ungodly rumbling noise that made Lana giggle. He found that his mouth was too dry to effectively eat, so he forced down the bite he had taken and went for the water instead.

"When is Daddy coming home?" Lana asked between her tiny bites.

Sherlock's eyes closed. "We've discussed this, Lana." His grip on the glass was almost painful. He took a long drink of water. He choked back a moan. The liquid hitting his throat was the most relieving feeling in the world. He was enjoying this more than the recalled sensation of the first hit after three days of withdrawal. He finished off the glass in a rush of breath and set it down, feeling more grounded. "Daddy is not coming home." His voice caught and he took in a shaky breath.

Lana stood and turned to look at him dutifully. They were the same height at the moment, both looking into striking blue eyes. "Pease don't cry again, Papa." She said placing her hands on his face. "Pease, I love you."

Sherlock let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob and pulled her tightly to him. "I love you, too baby girl." He pushed her gently away to hold her at arms lengths. "I won't cry anymore." He promised her. "Let's finish our lunch, eh?" Lana smiled and he returned the expression, chapped lips stretching painfully. He had to get out of this state for her. He had to preserver for her. He couldn't give up because the only person he cared for so deeply and had cared so deeply for him was gone. There was Lana now, and his love for her rivaled his love for John. John had left her in his care and he couldn't let him down like that. He wouldn't.

Lana sat back down in his lap and he kissed the top of her head before they both resumed eating.


"Moran." Mycroft said in his usual business like tone. He handed over a folder that was brimming with files and photos.

"Sorry, who?" John – no, no he was Percy for the moment – asked. He glanced through the folder. His hair was different now, cut military short, dyed black, as was the goatee he now sported. Even his eyebrows had been coloured. "I thought I was going after Moriarty."

"Colonel Sebastian Moran. Moriarty's favourite assassin; sends him around the world killing who needs to be killed. On the surface the relationship is professional, but," Mycroft raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Certain intelligence has suggested a stronger bond."

John chuckled. Wouldn't that just be something? "So why am I killing him and not the man who runs the whole operation." He stared at Mycroft challengingly. He wasn't going to make this easy on the elder Holmes. Not for what he was doing to his family.

"It has come to our attention that perhaps Moran is more than just a gun. When not away on a job, Moran helps run the business. It would appear he has as much power over the clientele as Moriarty. He is always there when meeting clients in person, who sends others out to do small jobs." Mycroft shrugged. "Almost as if he does most of the work. Take away Moran and Moriarty is weak."

John looked up from a rather grisly crime scene photo and frowned. "Then what exactly does Moriarty do?"

"James Moriarty comes across to us as the brains and as a figure head." Mycroft smiled at him wryly. "If you were running a criminal ring, wouldn't you want someone as intimidating and, to put it bluntly, insane as him to show off what you could do? To make sure no one could think they would be able to challenge you?" Mycroft folded his hands in his lap. "Moriarty brings a certain terrifying air of power. No one really wants to deal with a mad man, do they? Moran provides just enough stability that the clients trust them as a whole."

John nodded at length and then turned back to the file in his lap. He couldn't help but glance at his expensive new jeans. They were much more than he would ever pay for himself, as was the rest of his new wardrobe. Right now he looked like the CEO of some important and wealthy company who was on vacation. John didn't think the look suited him.

The file held a lot of information on Moran. He had been in the army as well – dishonorably discharged, a crack shot, educated, and had even written a few books. John's brows knitted and he felt a hopelessness wash over him. He was expected to take this man down? He had been invalided from the army, had let himself get pudgy and comfortable. Moran was still in practice, still … God he was ripped based off of this picture. Tall and blonde, with a rugged rectangular head. He had a long intimidating scar down the left side of his face as well. John thought he almost looked like a tiger.

"You'll be able to beat him, John." Mycroft told him softly, as if he was able to read John's mind. He hated the Holmeses for that ability. "What does this Moran person have to live for? Money and power? You have your family you need to protect. I have never seen a more powerful motivator." Mycroft tried to offer a comforting smile, but it ended up looking more like a sneer.

John glared out the window of the small charter plane they were riding in. He was angry. He had been angry since that first meeting about two weeks ago. His phone had gone off a few hours after he realized Sherlock was separating himself from the family. The message had been from Mycroft, telling him to get in the car that was waiting for him outside the flat. He had been prepared to rip Mycroft apart, but the grim look that the elder Holmes' face had held made him pause as soon as he opened the car door.

"Get in, John." He had said flatly. John had conceded and grudgingly climbed in. He had felt embarrassed. Surely it was obvious he'd been crying. After a few tense moments Mycroft began speaking. "I trust that Sherlock didn't take yesterday afternoon's events well?"

John had shaken his head. He had no idea how Mycroft knew what had happened, but he found that he didn't care in this moment. "He's started shutting in on himself. He's probably figuring on leaving." John had admitted dejectedly.

"That is what he plans to do." Mycroft had said bluntly. "Though he will try to go after Moriarty."

John's stomach had dropped into his feet. "What? No. He can't. He'll be killed." The words had flooded out of John's mouth before he could stop them.

"Which is why I think it best to send you instead."

John had felt like he had had the wind knocked out of him. "Sorry, what?" John had asked breathlessly. "You want me to pack up my things, kiss my family good bye, and just leave them to go kill a man?"

Mycroft's expression had never deviated from a serious mask. "No. They can't know what you will be doing. It would put all of you in more danger than you already are." Mycroft took in a deep breath and brushed nonexistent lint from his trousers. "That's why you will have to fake your death so you can perform the task in secret."

John had just stared blankly at the man across the car, mouth hanging open. Mycroft had waited patiently. "I can't do it. I won't." John had said eventually. "I won't put them through that kind of pain. I won't risk their trust like that." He had felt dirty just thinking about it.

Mycroft's lips had turned into a thin line. "So you're just going to let Sherlock run off and do it, then?"

John had pursed his lips and lifted his chin, refusing to meet Mycroft's gaze.

"I don't trust my brother with this kind of task, John." Mycroft had admitted quietly. "If I did, we would have already set something in motion, but his heart is too close to the matter now. It is no longer just between him and Moriarty."

"And my heart isn't too close?" John had spat bitterly. "Me? The emotional one out of the pair? Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"You have training, John." Mycroft reasoned. "Sherlock does not. It would be extremely unsafe for him to run after Moriarty. He may think himself capable of such things, but let us be reasonable. He's needed you to protect him how often?"

John had felt his eyes close as the reasons sunk in. Mycroft was right. As much as he hated it, the man was right. He couldn't let Sherlock do something so stupid.

Mycroft's voice had turned urgent. "We've got it all set up John. We could have you out of here tomorrow. You would just have to follow our instructions and we can help you protect Sherlock and Lana. Your family."

John had opened his eyes and glared at Mycroft. "What would I have to do?"

"John," Mycroft's voice brought him back to the present. He looked solemnly at the other man. "We are about to land in Gdansk. You will be on your own from here." Mycroft handed him a new cell phone as the plane slowly began to descend. "We will keep you informed with as much intelligence as possible. I will wish you good luck now." He placed a hand on John's shoulder. "Please, for your family's sake, stay safe."

John took in a sharp breath and gave a curt nod. He still felt wrong doing this, but his military training came flooding back. Sherlock wasn't the only one who could effectively block out emotions when it was needed. He would do this. He had to.