Chapter 10: Chapter 9

A cab picked up the two men from the high street and began the journey back to Baker Street.

'Aren't we going back to the mansion?' A tired John asked when he finally realised they were going the wrong direction.

'No. There would be no point. It's better to go back home.' The doctor nodded then realised something, he seemed to wake up considerably at the thought,

'Ok. So now you can tell me what the fuck just happened. Why did Moriarty let us go?' The detective sighed and unclipped Johns belt before dragging the doctor close to him.

'Well. Jim hasn't actually let us go as such. He, that is we, have made a deal.' The detective said, not quite able to meet his flatmates eyes. John felt suddenly colder inside.

'What. Did. You. Do?' The doctor asked through his teeth. Sherlock coughed and squirmed slightly under the soldiers steely gaze.

'It's a long winded deal.' He said, hoping that he could leave it at that. He continued when he realised it was never going to be enough. 'Well, the first bit is that he leaves us alone while you heal. Well, heal physically anyway. That includes anyone under his command.' He paused and John gestured for him to continue, 'Then, when you're all fixed up… well… He's going to pop in for tea and see how you are and then all three of us are going to have a bit of a chat.' The doctor scowled, getting answers from the taller male was becoming a trial.

'And what will this so called chat be about?' He asked, annoyance clear in his voice. Sherlock sighed,

'He's going to raise hell between now and then, and I'm not allowed to intervene with any of his crimes. Then he's going to ask you the question.' The detective answered, his mouth twisted unpleasantly at the memory of the conversation. John sat in silence. Part of him wanted to ask what the question, part of him didn't want to know but most of him already knew. He turned to face the streets that whizzed by outside his window as the cab drew closer to Baker street. Even the weather outside seemed to grow heavy with impending doom as he dwelled on what was to come.

6 weeks later

John looked out at the sun through the window as Sherlock unwrapped the last of the bandages around his torso. At first the doctor had denied the detective any contact with him, especially involving in treatment. For some reason, he felt like if he hid his injuries from Sherlock then the other man wouldn't know either. It was a stupid thought but it seemed to help for a while. By the seventh day, the taller man had somehow slipped past his defences, the way only he knew how, and started helping him. The first few touches were awkward but John soon found that he had relaxed into Sherlock's soft hands, the way he had done many months ago. Somewhere inside him, the last piece of his heart shattered and fell to the bottom of his chest. Now he could only look out at this new London. When Moriarty had said he would raise hell, he really had meant it. 221b Baker Street stood, untouched, in a street full of broken windows, boarded up houses and families afraid to leave the relative safety of their houses. Every night, havoc ran riot through the streets that were still standing. Murders had become such a regular occurrence that the news no longer gave details on the cases but figures on how long the reign of terror had lasted and how long it was set to continue for. True to his word, the psycho hadn't made an appearance and true to his word, Sherlock hadn't taken any cases at all. Much to Lestrades annoyance. He tried to launch another drugs bust to try and get the detective to come back to work but the police car that contained half the force sent to 221b blew up, cause still unknown, and sent a shock that smashed all the windows within a half mile radius. The Scotland Yard didn't try again.

A sleek black car pulled up against the cracked curb. John felt his blood become ice in his veins.

'He's here.' The doctor said in a voice devoid of all emotion. Sherlock's hands automatically tensed against his arm as they waited for the inevitable knock on their door. Each second that slowly ticked by was torturous for both men but finally the polite tap echoed through the silent confines of the room. After a moment, the detective stood and made his way to open the door.

He turned the handle and opened it to see the Irishman stood in his now infamous Westwood suit. (Only a few knew who he actually was but many had seen him stroll the streets and somehow knew that he was part of the horror that they were subject to) He smiled brightly and stepped inside.

'Sherlock, my dear. I had almost began to wonder if you were going to let me in.' He said in his cheerfully high voice. As soon as his eyes met those of the doctor, they brightened and his smile became slightly more genuine,

'Johnny-Boy! How I have missed you. Sherlock, put the kettle on, me and Johnny need to catch up.' Sherlock shot their guest a withering look but went to the kitchen anyway.

No that they were alone-ish, Jim almost skipped up to the doctor and sat on the arm of his chair. He leant into John, who somehow managed not to flinch, and ran his hand through the other mans hair.

'So Johnny. I see you all better now. I bet it's been awful, shut up in this flat for weeks on end. Lets go outside. Get you some fresh air.' Jim pressed his lips against the blonds forehead. John pulled away slightly,

'Uh… Well, Sherlock's making tea so…' It was a crap excuse but the soldiers mind had become helpfully blank so it was all he could come up with. The criminal mastermind's lips drew up into a tight smile and he called back to the detective who was still in the kitchen,

'Sherlock dear, don't bother with the tea, Johnny and I are going for some fresh air.' Sherlock stuck his head into the room and gave John a quick glance. Seeing that the ex army medic hadn't agreed to the little trip he began to fetch his coat. Jim stood up, dragging John with him.

'Did I say you were coming? No, I don't think I did. Stay here, I'll know if you go anywhere.' Sherlock looked as panicked a normal human being would be in the situation, Moriarty couldn't believe what an effect the small man he was holding could be as he was the cause of such a revelation. 'Don't worry, Shirley, I won't steal him away or make him choose while you not there. I want you there when he decides the worlds fate.' Then with a wink, he walked out of the door, pulling the doctor behind him.

Walking outside, John couldn't help but think of dead London after the War of the Worlds, only that was a story about and alien invasion and his was all because of the man walking beside him. The man who was beaming at the world he had created.

'Do you like it John? It happened because of you, you know.' Jim said, still in his dream like state.

'Don't try to lay this off on me. This was all you. Ruining my life wasn't enough for you, you had to ruin everyone else's too.' John said, he was going to carry on but realised how harsh he sounded and who he was talking to. Jim grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers,

'Do go on, I love it when your angry.' He said as he brought his other hand round to grip the doctors arm. John sighed in defeat and the criminal mastermind instinctively knew that the blond had made up his mind. They turned round and headed back for 221b Baker Street. From somewhere behind them, shots rang out. John turned to the psycho, who raised his shoulders.

'They're not mine, Johnny-Boy. I've called holt on everything as soon as I heard you had healed.' For some reason, John believed him and he turned to the gunshots which seemed to creep closer with every passing second. Jim clicked a few buttons on the phone in his pocket but John didn't notice, he was too busy watching the gang of people that made their way towards them. On voice rang out clear above the rest and it was one voice the doctor didn't think he would ever hear again. Anderson, deceased in a car bomb four weeks ago according to records, stood facing the two men.

'This is the psycho that destroyed your homes and why? Because of that man standing next to him. You heard what he said. If we get rid of the cause, then we can get rid of the effect.' John stared in disbelief, forget what he had said before in the forensic detectives defence, the man was an idiot. The raged gang seemed to agree with him, however; and they aimed the weapons. John turned round, grabbing Jim's hand and fled down the streets. As soon as they turned a corner, a hailstorm of bullets rained down on the mob from the hidden snipers Moriarty had positioned on the rooftops. He knew that he was safe but that didn't stop the soldier from running all the way back to the flat.

Sherlock waited at the door, he embraced John warmly-the way lovers would after a long time apart would- and stepped aside to usher the two men back into the flat. Jim's phone beeped once and he checked the screen before allowing the briefest lift of a smile to grace his otherwise clear expression. John sat in his chair and looked at the two men, the two geniuses in their own rights. He massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. When he opened his eyes again, the two consultants were sat next to each other on the sofa, each with the same impatient look in their eyes. Moriarty eventually spoke,

' Ok Johnny-Boy, If you come with me now and I will stop all of this, I'll even help put things right. If not then, I think you know what will happen.' The doctor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he knew what he wanted to say. He also knew what he would say, the fact that they were different answers torn him up inside.

'Can I say goodbye?' He asked defeated. Jim nodded once, and left the room. It didn't matter now, he'd won.

Sherlock opened his arms and John couldn't help but sink into them. His worries seemed to evaporate and he was filled with something he hadn't felt in such a long time and he doubted he would ever feel again.

'I'm so sorry Sherlock. This is all my fault.' He whispered into the other mans shoulder. At this he was pulled back to that the detective could look into his eyes.

'This is not your fault, it never was. Don't ever think like that, John, it was me. I was stupid and careless and now I've lost you.' Sherlock's voice, despite his best efforts, cracked. John smiled sadly and shook his head,

'No, you've not lost me Sherlock. You have the one thing that Moriarty will never own. You have my heart, it is in pieces and doesn't work anymore but it is still yours.' At this, the detective also smiled, though John knew it was for his benefit and not the genuine thing. Jim coughed impatiently at the door and John took a step back.

'Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. Worlds only consulting detective.' John said as he turned to the door. Sherlock remained silent. The door clicked softly to tell him that he was now alone, the edges of his mouth twitched upward. No, I'm not alone. I'll never be alone again. In his mind, Doctor John smiled and waved at him then set to work, after all, the world's police force still needed a consulting detective, whether he liked it or not.

THE END

AN- This was an absolute nightmare to write. I had a happy ending but it didn't fit in with the rest so here is a happy-ish ending instead. Please let me know what you think to it. (Basically: review)

Bx