Chapter 10 – Smoking the Hive

Really sorry I haven't updated in a long while. Had a few family things going on and there just wasn't time to write out something I myself would have liked. So it has taken the better part of 2 months two thrash this chapter out, and I must say, the closer this gets to some sort of conclusion, the harder its been to get things just right. But I hope this chapter will be a good return to this story. I am as invested in it as you are. Honest!

Well, I think its time to start wrapping things up now, don't you? Things are coming to a head for all our characters and maybe I've kept John and Sherlock apart for too long. That's a Bit Not Good. From your responses I am assured that you have liked the story so far and you approve of how I've developed the characters. Thank you for that. It was a big help to know that so far my work has paid off and that you all enjoyed this story.

Many thanks to WL Chastain, toocoolfornoschool, mervoparkite, beemoh, ruthybev, FotoDi, Eris1031, World'sOnlyConsultingTimeLady and kitkatthevampirelover92 for your reviews. You are great people and its fun waiting for your reviews!

WL Chastain: Chaz! You dog you! Sherlock using Ash for raging meerkat sex! Really! Would I do that to John? Me? I who am fighting Moriarty himself to get them back together again? You wound me Chaz! *heartbroken* But those Cheetos really help with the mood. Don't want the cals though, thanks. ;)

And Benedict Cumberbatch really is good at talking. Seen his interviews and guest show appearances and well, he sure has a mouth on him. So does Martin Freeman, actually. But anyway, this is about Sherlock and John. Not Ash. Ash will turn to ash soon enough. And it will be on you because you insinuated that he was having sex with Sherlock! A bit not good. No, no. :P

toocoolforschool: That's an interesting moniker. Thank you for your review. Hope you like this next chapter too. Read on!

mervoparkite: I've tried my best to keep these characters as close to canon as possible. Though I'm not sure if they're canon enough, but character development is important to me. Its good to know you liked my efforts and thank you for telling me so. The way things are going, the boys may well be coming home safe and sound; it is what I want for them too. Here's the next chapter up which I hope you like just like the previous ones. Enjoy!

beemoh: Well, the boys are always fun to write about and there are so many nuances to explore that I cant stop myself. But it turns into material that you and other readers enjoy so its all worth it. Thank you for staying with the story for so long. Hope this chapter is as good as the ones before. Happy reading!

ruthybev: Wow! That has got to be one of the top 5 most encouraging reviews I've had on this story so far. I do hope I will be able to continue it convincingly for some time to come. But as of yet, I myself am not sure how long I want to take this plot, so I guess we will all have to wait and see. Plot bunnies rule this verse, not me, I'm afraid. All Hail the Plot Bunnies! Hope this next chapter is as fun. Thank you for your review and I hope you will do so again. Enjoy!

FotoDi: Okay, first, I have to ask, what does your name mean? And second (which was actually a close first anyway), thank you so much for your review! I completely share your anxiety and I'm working towards the same goal. Here's another chapter towards that goal and I hope you will like it enough to review again. Enjoy the chapter!

Eris1031: Haha! Thank you for your review. I'm quite excited myself and your review is very welcome. Hope you like this new chapter. Enjoy!

World'sOnlyConsultingTimeLady: Wow! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate a review from you! I follow your work and absolutely love all your stories. Its like a fan being noticed by a star. Just … thank you so much! I really hope you enjoy this new chapter!

kitkatthevampirelover92: Thank you for your review. I feel the same about this story. So I hope you will like this new chapter. Have fun reading!

Sherlock Holmes turned into such a feline when he was sated and comfortable, observed Ash, an amused smirk curving his lips. The detective was lying in his favourite pose, flat out on the couch, with a pillow under his head and another under his feet, pajama clad and tousle haired, indolence in every line of his being as he lounged on that piece of furniture in a rare spell of inactivity. To be fair, the last case had finally been satisfactorily brought down in Strasbourg just the day before and this called for some laziness on the part of the usually hyperactive detective.

As long as he didn't start shouting 'Bored!' again at the top of his voice. Bless his lungs. God knew how John tolerated him in those moods, but right now, he was thankful the energetic detective was silent. Cleaning out their supply of guns, Ash mused on the latest case.

Once again, single-handedly, Sherlock Holmes had saved the day, preventing an explosion in a hotel that would otherwise have taken out the representatives of some of the most powerful weapons manufacturers in the world. Mycroft Holmes had been extremely worried about the plot when it was first revealed and was now … acceptably pleased with the more than favourable result. After all, the fact that the younger brother of the British Government had saved their lives put those men indirectly in debt to said British Government. Yes, quite an acceptable situation indeed.

Not that Sherlock cared about such things. His main focus had always been the group that had been commissioned to make and place the bomb, the rest was just window dressing. Welcome, perhaps, but not altogether important in the larger frame of things. He'd done it all for John's safety, and for Sherlock, as Ash well knew, there could be nothing more important.

However, this state of affairs brought with it its own spate of problems. Sherlock wanted to return to London and Mycroft was dead set against it. It was not yet safe for the consulting detective to return home and everyone but the detective knew it. For the better part of the year now, they had made sure to keep him solely focused on the various cases that would spell the end of Moriarty's vast global crime network. Nobody wanted him to return just as the fires were being stoked again to smoke out one last remaining rat. The ship was all but sunk, and the balance was delicate.

Sherlock's arrival on the London scene would either be the last straw that tilted the prow or the one that gave it one last lifeline.

It seemed like some of the main players would have to meet again to decide the games of one Sherlock Holmes.

~ Scene Break ~

He woke to the sound of someone singing his name. Just one little word repeated over and over and over again coming closer with every step that echoed off the cold tiled floors of the empty corridors in this abandoned set of flats. He had hoped for a bit more sleep before dealing with this. He had hoped for a bit more time. Hell, he had hoped to be able to finish his job without it coming to this. He had hoped against hope that this Pandora's Box would hold Hope until the end. But now it seemed that Hope's sister Despair had come home.

It was not bad timing, no. It was great timing. It may even be perfect timing depending on how their other plans went. They had talked about this, discussed this scenario and every other effing possible one for days before rounding out with this one. Extensively. Because it was just so him. This extravagant, this overconfident, this insane. It could only be him.

Setting his shoulders, he took a deep breath and shook off the remnants of sleep. It would never do to meet this man with a fuzzy brain. He would need to be alert and ready for anything all the time now and hopefully finish this with what needed to be done. He gave himself a little shake and reached for his gun. So far everything had gone as close to plan as it could considering all that had happened in the past year. And now that all the loose ends were coming together, he couldn't fail this mission and all the people depending on him. On this. Especially…

A single knock broke through his reverie and the door opened to reveal his guest, unwelcome, but not unexpected.

"Honeeeeeeeyy! I'm hooo~oooome!

He looked up from the gun he'd been cleaning on automatic and set aside the oiled rag in his hand. He nodded at his visitor. "James."

The short, slim man with the abnormally large ego pouted, "Now now Sebby, is that any way to greet your employer back from the dead? After all I've done for you?"

Well the theatricality hadn't changed. "How did you do it?" he asked instead, rising to set his gun on the table.

The shorter man shrugged his Westwood coated shoulders. "Meh. It was nothing. Paid actor, scripted dialogue. Told him it was his screen test for a movie. He lapped it up. Boring." The man grinned. "What have you been up to, Sebby? Caught any fish?"

"I'm sure you know all about that, James. You've been around for a few months now."

James laughed, eyes wide and pleased, and he clapped his hands delightedly. "Oh you clever clever darling! Of course I've been around. Had to make sure our contract was still active, after all," he winked at the blond, walking around him towards the mini bar in the corner of the room. He poured himself a glass of whisky and turned to face the sniper again.

"I have noticed something though."

"And what is that?" Keep it careful, keep it casual, keep it calm.

"Andrew and Aaron are missing."

"Dead. Police crossfire. Suspected for breaking and entering and armed robbery."

"I found the footage."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"Where did the replacements come from?"

The frown cleared. "Simon and Tom. Old army dogs. Associates of mine."

James sipped at his drink and just looked at him.

"I promised them a cut of my share. They're broke but they're good."

"For your sake and theirs', I hope so."

They looked at each other. James smiled at the blond sniper, all teeth and sharp eyes. Then he drained his drink and sauntered away into the bedroom, dropping the glass on the rugged floor on the way. A few minutes later, the sound of the shower running could be heard. Sebastian heaved a sigh of relief. He'd forgotten how scarily intense the man could be. This job would be the death of him. Taking out his phone, he sent off a bulk text.

Diva on stage.

He deleted the text from the phone and turned it on silent before hiding it in one of his jacket pockets. Picking up another phone from the table, he called Simon and Tom for updates. Best to have new information on hand even if nothing was going on. The intervening years had been quite slow. Everything seemed to have calmed down after the supposedly fake genius detective swan-dived to his death on the pavement. But then, if he had died – and so far there was no evidence to the contrary – why would their three marks still be in the cross-hairs? There seemed to be no more reason to be keeping them captive for the detective's good behavior, but James had not yet reversed his order. Which meant … what, exactly?

Sebastian shook his head. There had never been a day he'd actually been able to understand the way James' mind worked. Not that he wanted to. It was safer by far to just be told when to point and who to shoot. He was marginally less deep in this shit that way. He had no illusions about his status if he was ever caught out or if James chose to end their convenient association. People didn't look very kindly on pedophiles in the army, and even less in the normal world, but it had only been the one time. Apparently it had been one time too many. His life ruined because he'd been too weak to resist his own carnal desires.

"You take what you want, when you want, Sebby. It makes you powerful, not weak."

"Would you please stop sneaking up on people!"

"Where's the fun in that?" he stepped into the room dressed only in a rather fluffy white bathrobe, his feet bare on the carpet. "Be a dear and bring up my bags for me."

"Foyer?" He got only a nod in return and turned away to make his way downstairs. There wasn't anything incriminating in his suite, so he wasn't too concerned about James snooping around, which he would of course do. He was more curious about the status of his current contract. Considering that his employer seemed to be in a better mood today, it would probably be the best time to ask him. Never know when that volatile man became unstable again. James' 'death' had meant relative peace for Sebastian as well. He wanted to maintain what semblance of it remained for as long as possible. James got dreadfully bored with peace and that was never good for the people around him.

On that note, Sherlock Holmes probably never knew how many innocent lives he saved in all those years by attracting and keeping James' attention for so long. The man had been beside himself with suffused excitement when he'd rediscovered the sociopathic consulting detective. Sherlock had intrigued him as a boy, but when he dropped off the social radar after dropping out of college, even James had been unable to locate him. A Sherlock who didn't want to be found, wasn't found. And that made James' blood sing.

It was much later, while he was still consolidating his webs of power in the States that he heard of the new boy in the police force who was helping the Met solve a higher than average number of cases in remarkable time. There wasn't even much digging required. The papers laid it all out. Sherlock Holmes was the new crime-solver in town. The darling of New Scotland Yard. He even had a costume to match, complete with cape and built and looks. James had gone gaga over that angular face. Seb just couldn't see it. He'd been told to bring back pictures of Sherlock Holmes and as a result James' room was papered with newspaper cuttings and several printed photographs courtesy Seb's phone camera.

Clearly, as that Adler woman had once said, brainy was the new sexy, for these intellectual types. And apparently Sherlock Holmes could make James Moriarty gay for him and little Miss gay Adler not-gay too. Joy.

He still remembered the days spent on surveillance, even when James returned to England, stalking, following, recording; the gigabytes of saved images and recordings stored. Sherlock Holmes immortalized in .jpg and .avi and Mp4. Thankfully the man didn't seem to have any accounts on any social media around. That would have just taken the cake. With every other normal kind of stalking going on, cyber stalking, which James would likely have done himself, would just be the icing on the detective cake. But Seb wasn't sure what was worse; James' delight at realizing that 'his' detective wasn't one of the 'mindless drone' crowd, or his disappointment that he wouldn't be able to follow his obsession more … umm … obsessively.

He stopped musing when he returned to his rooms. Best to not be caught musing about your boss' person of interest where he could see. At least when you're not actively dogging his steps on said boss' orders.

"Unpack them in your room Sebby, darling. I'm moving in."

Sebastian sighed. "Of course." He moved around the consulting criminal lounging in the leather backed chair and went into what had been his room until 5 seconds ago. Unpacking quickly, he removed everything he owned from the room and made his way into the second room in the flat. It wasn't that much different from the other one, but James' high-handedness irked. More so, because he'd become used to the criminal's absence in all this time.

Moving into the living room he asked, "So, what is the plan?"

"Plan?" asked Moriarty vaguely, his nose in a book.

"Yes, well, I assumed the reason you've returned to the land of the living is because there is a plan."

"Maybe I just missed you, my dear Sebastian."

The addressed gritted his teeth, counting slowly down from 10. "Just checking," he finally answered in a strained voice.

James smiled into his book. "Well, if you're so eager to know, I'll indulge your curiosity." He dropped the book over the side of the chair and unfolded himself from it, rising and striding across the room to stand at a window. "In all these months I've been gone, someone has been taking down my network. All of it, every last bit from the largest visible contact, to the smallest link in my web has been torn down and destroyed. Everywhere! And nobody knows who is responsible. I've been around the world at their heels, using whatever resources I still have to catch them and chop them into dog biscuits. But every time I've arrived too late to get any information on the attackers. Its like they knew I was there, but that is impossible!" A fist smashed the window-pane, the glass making no sound as it fell on the carpeted floor.

"Their only MO seems to be total and utter destruction," he continued in a snarl. "MY total and utter destruction. They're leaving more blood and bodies in their wake than I ever managed in all my years at running the largest underground criminal empire this world has ever known. And now that almost every country has been dealt with, the answer becomes clear. First I thought it might have been the Chinese or the Serbians, but those cells were wiped out months ago. Those jobs were quiet. Had I not checked for myself I would never have known. But after this latest 'mistake' in Strasbourg, there can only be one answer, only one person who has the reach and the resources to go after everything I am and everything I built. And we are going to destroy him."

Turning sharply, framed in the light from the window, he grinned at his sniper, a maniacal light in his dark eyes, "We are going to destroy the Iceman."

Walking into the bathroom, he brought the med-kit to the table and began cleaning the cuts on his hand. "And that is why you still have your contract active, Seb. Call in more of your old army comrades. If they need a job, and will listen to orders, I have the money to line their pockets. We need a small army. Find me people for every skill-set. I'll let you know the plan in a few days. Right now, though," he finished bandaging his hand and settled back down in his chair, "I want to finish this book."

Seb didn't hear another word from him all day, though he made the man dinner and cleared away an empty plate later. He left to keep watch on his target a few hours later, leaving a note to say where he was going. But when he returned, the lights were out in the flat, the note was still in its place on the table, and the consulting criminal was asleep.

Counting the few blessings he still had left, Sebastian pulled out his phone and made a few calls. He knew some of the old army crowd were still around and he knew they would be interested. It was time, apparently, to take the gang out to the pub.

~ Scene Break ~

This criminal-catching gig was damn fun John thought, as he raced after a murderer fleeing the scene of the crime. He'd asked Lestrade to call him in to crime scenes again, ostensibly because he wanted to do this for Sherlock while he wasn't here, but really it was to keep watch over Lestrade. Everybody else could just put it down to John doing the only thing that would make him feel closer to his lost friend. Well, there was that anyway, but then Sherlock wasn't lost. He was just unexpectedly where he wasn't supposed to be. If it wasn't for that, all those pitying looks and sideways glances would have been incredibly infuriating. As it was, Donovan and the new forensics guy … Harrison, was it? … were at best an irritation.

It was satisfying to know that Sherlock would have flayed them alive.

Two blocks away, he caught up to the man and flung himself at him, tackling the man to the ground. Hard muscle, high strung and flexible, fought back furiously, throwing the doctor off for a bare second before John was on him again, pushing an elbow into the back of a knee, bringing the man stumbling to the ground. Pushing up off the ground, John hit the man in the side of the neck with the flat of his hand, and when he bowed over wheezing for air, met his face with a kneecap. With a crunch and a howl of pain, the man fell, blood sprouting from a broken nose, mouth open to compensate for air flow. Quickly, John brought the man's hands behind his back, tied them off with a zip-tie he kept on his person at all times and then proceeded to sit on him while he called Lestrade to come and pick him up.

Yes, life was good.

But while he was running around London catching the bad guys, there was so very much more happening in the city teeming with life and death and secrets. A text chimed and John groaned, hanging his head. Mycroft had just confirmed what he'd discovered through the excellent help of his Legionnaires and the Homeless Network.

Sherlock Holmes was in London.

And what's more, he was stalking Lestrade. And Mrs. Hudson. And John himself. The absolute crazy, stupid fool.

Which meant he was either around here somewhere or soon would be, since Greg would be arriving shortly.

Right, then. Game Face on.

Sitting there on the murderer's shoulders, John allowed his face to gradually morph from adrenaline related jubilation to memory haunted jadedness. He'd allowed himself to grow thinner; not eating regularly would do that to a man still lost in the sorrow of immense personal loss. There were always bags under his eyes, purple and heavy, indicating a chronic lack of adequate sleep and rest. His lips were pinched and indications of pressure in the skin around them and the lines on his forehead showed the stress that never left him. This was only confirmed by the bowed shoulders, once strong and straight, now tired of holding up the weight of his lonely world. The hair that was once maintained in that careful precise military cut, had been allowed to grow out, as if their wearer no longer cared how he looked and was no longer proud of who he was.

He'd been wearing this particular brown jumper for two days now, and there was a beard on his face. He wasn't taking care of himself. His shoes were smudged with dirt, but hadn't been recently cleaned, at least in the last four months. Even the aglets were cut and frayed. He looked almost scruffy. And not like himself. It was a disconcerting reality.

The sound of sirens in the distance rent the air and made the still form of the doctor shift on his human seat. He looked too tired to really bother getting up off the man until Lestrade jogged into view, pulling the doctor up to his feet, where he stumbled unsteadily, reaching for the support of the nearest wall. Sally Donovan caught up to them with the rest of the force, and they bundled the murderer off between them. With a last glance at her boss and the doctor, Sally left them standing together, the DI frowning in concern at the shorter man who's shoulders were being held up by the wall behind him. They stood there a long while, not talking, just being there. It was an unfamiliar tableau, and one that he wished he had never seen.

At length, the good doctor pushed himself straight and with Lestrade at his side, made his way out of the alley onto the main street. Getting into the panda car, they drove off together in the direction of NSY.

It was only then that a smirk formed on the blond man's lips, removing years of stress from his face. Turn about was fair play indeed, using knowledge of Sherlock Holmes' process of deduction against him. This situation had possibilities, but he'd have to discuss them with the boss first. The People In Charge would have to have known by now that Sherlock Holmes was back in London. He would be called in to add to the data pool soon enough. Until then he had his orders. And so, after giving Lestrade his statement, it was back to Baker Street for him.

His phone rang in the cab on his way back to 221B. Just a number, no name. He pressed a button and raised the phone to his ear.

"Diva has called in the troops. Meeting is on for tonight. In the space where long lost secrets first unfolded. 8 o' clock. Be ready."

Well, it seemed that the time to make some plans had arrived.