As Sherlock climbed the final steps onto the roof with John and Irene by his side, his breath caught in his throat at the assault of memories. He could almost feel the wind rush by him as he jumped, hurtling towards the Earth. Suppressing a shudder, he walked forwards, scanning the horizon for his enemy, but instead finding the two people he had deliberately tried to keep from coming.
"No," he protested firmly.
Mycroft and Molly sat onr the edge of the roof, shoulders touching. His brother smiled smugly, waving in greeting.
"You didn't tell me they were coming," John commented.
"They weren't supposed to," Sherlock grumbled loudly enough for his brother to hear him.
"Now Sherlock," Mycroft began, standing. "Didn't we agree to do this together?
"No!" Sherlock snapped as his brother as Molly came to stand beside him. "It's too dangerous for the two of you to be here!"
A touch on his arm instantly calmed him. He turned towards it, meeting Irene's gentle eyes. "Nothing's going to happen to us. Besides, don't we have safety in numbers?"
With a sigh, Sherlock turned back to his brother. "Fine. You can stay."
"You're not exactly in control of wether we do or don't, Sherlock," Molly piped up.
The detective blinked in surprise at Molly's newfound boldness. He smiled slightly. It was obvious by the way she stood so close to his brother that his plan had worked. Now that he could see the confidence in the pathologist's eyes, and the warmth glowing in Mycroft's, he knew they were an excellent match.
"So, what's the plan?" she asked.
Both John and Irene snorted, trying to conceal their laughter. The genius glared back at them in annoyance before answering Molly. "We find out what Moriarty wants, and we improvise from there."
The confidence in her eyes didn't waver as she replied, "That's not much of a plan."
"Sherlock's more of a rash action type of person," John answered, drawing a chuckle out of the pathologist.
"That doesn't matter," Irene cut in, touching Sherlock's arm again. "No matter what happens, we're behind you one-hundred percent."
He leaned into her hand, letting her touch drive out the memories of the wind, the Earth, and the pain. Her voice blocked out the sound of John's screaming, leaving only calm. As if sensing his need, she placed her other hand on his lower arm, gently wrapping her fingers around him.
"My, this is quite the party," a high-pitched voice exclaimed from the stairs.
Sherlock didn't have to turn to recognize the voice that haunted his nightmares. His skin prickled, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand. Irene's grip on his arm tightened. He met her eyes, which were filled with great trust and affection. She nodded slightly at him, and the simple action calmed his racing heart.
The detective turned to face his nightmare with a sarcastic smile on his face. "You're late."
It was difficult for Mycroft not to draw his gun from where it was hidden and shoot the consulting criminal on sight. Even the sound of his voice was nauseating; having to stare at the smug smile that brought his brother so much pain was unbearable. His hand itched, curling into a fist.
"Sorry about that," Moriarty replied smugly. "Pesky last minute things."
"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped.
"To issue a challenge," the criminal answered. "I couldn't resist."
Mycroft felt as if he could reach out and touch the tension hanging in the air with his hand, which was starting to sting. He uncurled his fist, noticing the nail imprints in his skin. Beads of blood had formed, and the politician wiped them off on his suit.
"You have exactly three weeks to stop me," Moriarty continued. "Or the British government takes a huge hit. And Sherlock, you'll probably die."
It took all of Mycroft's will not to shoot the consulting criminal right there, but he knew there was probably a sniper trained on his back, or even Molly's back. He grit his teeth, watching as Moriarty leaned in closer to his brother, smiling sickeningly. His teeth glistened like shark teeth, and his eyes narrowed like a snake.
"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked, his voice barely shaking.
"I love the game," Moriarty answered, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He leaned away, spreading his hands in front of him in a dramatic what-can-I-say motion.
"Also," he added, turning his conceited gaze towards Mycroft. "I want to see big brother squirming as he fails to save you once again."
Mycroft held back a snarl as he answered. "That's not going to happen. Not again." His voice quivered with badly disguised rage.
"Oh, but won't it?" Moriarty taunted, stepping closer.
He had to swallow back bile before answering again. "No," he replied firmly.
"I suppose you think that if you work together, you can stop me," the criminal said. "But you can't. I have a way with manipulating emotions. You know that, don't you Molly?"
His eyes turned to the pathologist, who met them confidently. "I think you've already exhausted your good ideas," she replied, calmer than either brother had been.
The consulting criminal laughed. "But that's not quite true. You know that, Ms. Adler."
Irene's hands had yet to move from Sherlock's arm. "I know," she said. "But I also know that we can beat you."
"But at what cost?" Moriarty asked, finally turning to John. "You know more than anybody how high that price is. Are you sure you even want to?"
John straightened himself like the soldier he was and firmly answered, "Yes." Upon seeing his resolve, Mycroft was sorry he had ever doubted the man before.
"Well, if you're sure, then I suppose that concludes my business here," Moriarty said, straightening his suit. "Don't follow me, or you'll find it very hard to walk for the next little while."
The consulting criminal disappeared down the staircase, leaving Mycroft to wonder how he could protect everybody.
Fifteen minutes passed and nobody could move from the roof. The group sat on the edge, except for Sherlock, who paced back and forth almost aggressively. The distress was written clearly across his face as his movements became more agitated. He muttered to himself, his eyes flaring at every word.
Finally, Irene decided that she'd had enough and moved to take Sherlock's hand. He paused, instantly calming at her touch. "We're going to be okay," she said firmly.
"How could you know that?" Sherlock asked. "We weren't last time."
"This is exactly what he wants," she explained. "He didn't come here to 'issue a challenge', Sherlock, he came to rattle us."
"I should just go after him myself," Sherlock replied, pulling himself out of Irene's grip and walking the other way.
"What are you going to do, cut him with your cheek bones?" she challenged.
The detective turned back to her, looking almost offended.
"You need to listen to me," Irene continued. "You are not alone, and that is why this time will be different."
"She's right," John piped up, moving to stand next to Irene. "You have friends, Sherlock, and not just me. You have lots of them."
Sherlock looked around the roof at each person who had come to support him before turning back to Irene and smiling. "You're right," he said.
"I bet those words tasted like vinegar," Irene replied with a smirk.
"Just tell us the plan, and we'll follow," John added, sneaking an amazed glance at Irene.
Sherlock nodded, his expression glazing over into something Irene recognized as his 'mind palace face'. She turned to John, sharing a knowing smile with him. "We'll probably be here awhile," she said.
"I was right," Mycroft cut in. "The two of you are good for each other."
"You are," John agreed. "I could never get him to calm down and listen to reason."
Irene glanced back at her detective, who was lost in thought. He had sat down, closing his eyes and clasping his hands under his chin. The wind blew his mess of curls every direction.
"I was worried," John continued, pulling Irene's attention back to him. "When I got married, I worried that he would have trouble adjusting, but you've helped him a lot."
"And you care for him a lot," Molly added, speaking for the first time since Moriarty's departure.
"I do," Irene agreed, turning back to Sherlock. Under his eyelids, she could tell his eyes were moving frantically, trying to solve the puzzle. He loved puzzles, and Moriarty was the biggest one of all. Underneath the fear and stress, Irene knew there was a small part of him that was enjoying it.
"He's planning a terrorist attack," Sherlock said suddenly, his eyes flying open.
"What makes you so sure?" Irene asked.
"There's a meeting in exactly three weeks, and I'm supposed to be there," he explained.
"Why?" Irene asked, frowning.
"Something about the Magnusson incident. Anyways, I know exactly how he's going to do it too."
"How's that?" Mycroft asked, worry creeping into his voice.
"Dimethylmercury," Sherlock responded.
"He was only testing it on the homeless network," Irene supplied. "He plans to take it to the next level."
"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed, standing up. "Now the tricky part is, he's expecting us to have figured it out."
"Of course," John groaned.
"He could put it anywhere," Irene mussed. "There's no way we can beat him there. Mycroft, you have to cancel that meeting."
"No!" Sherlock quickly cut in. "That's our best chance of catching him."
"Irene's right," Mycroft said. "It's too dangerous. I'm going to cancel it."
Before Sherlock could complain, Irene cut in. "We can figure out something safer, alright? We can't win at his game, and we can't refuse to play. That means, we have to force him to play ours."
"Can we do that to a spider such as Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, looking doubtful.
"We can," Irene replied with a grin. An idea had started taking shape in her head, and she almost couldn't contain her excitement, knowing that it could work.
"How?" Sherlock asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"With an inside man."
Exhausted, Molly flopped down onto Mycroft's couch. As a child, she had never imagined that she would be meeting criminal masterminds on rooftops, but here she was. She had known long ago that developing a crush on the handsome detective that often visited the morgue was a bad idea, but she couldn't have predicted just how dangerous it would be to befriend him.
"This is insane," she said out loud.
Mycroft chuckled lightly as he sat next to her. "This is life with the Holmes brothers," he said.
"And it's insane!" Molly exclaimed, laughing. "Not that I'm complaining, but when did this become my life?"
Mycroft glanced upwards, considering the question. "Probably when you befriended my brother," he answered. "He should come with a warning label."
The pathologist smiled and nodded. "Well, I wanted friends. I suppose beggars can't be choosers."
"You didn't have any?" Mycroft asked, the light-hearted expression gone from his face. "Not even at work?"
"I work with dead bodies," Molly replied casually. "My closest friend was Greg Lestrade, who was always coming in to investigate them."
The politician's eyes darkened as if he were deep in thought. His usually calm expression gave way to sadness for a brief moment. As she watched his face, Molly wondered if he knew the same loneliness she had experienced. Anybody alone in an empty house was bound to feel lonely, no matter how large the house or how amazing the person was.
"You have us now," Mycroft announced, grabbing Molly's hand. "Especially me."
"I'm glad," Molly replied, a warmth spreading through her stomach. "Thank you."
"You don't feel lonely anymore, do you?" Mycroft asked.
Molly thought back through the last few weeks since she had begun working on the Moriarty case. She had been surrounded by more people than normal, and to her surprise, she found that she hadn't been lonely in awhile. "I don't," she answered honestly.
"You shouldn't have to," Mycroft replied, almost whispering. "Speaking of work, I'm going to have to go in tomorrow. I can't keep calling in sick."
"Alright," Mycroft agreed. "But call me if anything happens."
"Nothing is going to happen," Molly protested. She leaned back, closing her tired eyes. "But alright, I promise I'll call."
The pair fell into comfortable silence, and Molly's mind slipped further into sleep. She tried for a few minutes to hold her eyes open, but the exhaustion was getting to her. Finally she positioned herself into a more comfortable position and let herself sleep.