Walter made his way up the stairs.

He paused in the doorway to the stairwell, peering across the room at the figure silhouetted in the window.

Walter approached carefully.

"You're him," he said.

The man who had to be Sherlock sighed. "Yes."

"I found you," Walter said, matter of fact.

"Indeed," Sherlock sighed again. "I'd hoped you wouldn't despite what your reputation led me to believe."

"Huh," Walter commented, grinning. "I have a reputation." He nodded. "Nice!"

Sherlock smiled thinly. "Perhaps not as you think."

His smile vanished. "You can't tell John." The way he said it, he meant it as a threat, but Walter only heard a plea.

Walter frowned. "Why not?" he countered. "John hired me to find you. I've found you. That's what I do."

"If you were to tell him, it would risk his life. Something I've worked very hard to avoid for the past many months."

"Is that what you're doing?" Walter asked. "Protecting him?"

Sherlock hesitated before nodding. "There were gunmen... If I hadn't jumped, then John would have died, along with two others that I care about."

"And now?"

Sherlock's face fell. "They're still not safe. That's what I'm doing. Taking out his men, one by one. Until they're all either dead, or behind bars, no one I care about will be safe."

"And how's that going for you?" Walter smirked.

Sherlock's eyes blazed. "As well as could be considered. But I'm not done yet. Which is why you can't tell him. If anything, the worst is yet to come."

Walter frowned. Sure, he understood what Sherlock was saying, and why, but that wasn't how he operated. "I'm not sure you understand how I work. People hire me to find things. I find them. It's that simple. The last time I didn't find something, it was the bomb that blew me up. You may solve things, Sherlock Holmes, but I find them." He took a breath. "I found you." Sherlock was staring him down, but Walter continued. "I will tell John. And he will be so, so, relieved. He cares for you, possibly more than you know, and it's not fair for him to be in the dark about this. He had to be told."

Sherlock shook his head sadly. "You can't. Mycroft won't let you."

"What?" he asked, rage only slightly veiled.

Sherlock's face darkened. "Mycroft has ways of making things happen. He's slightly limited when it comes to other countries, but he has enough ties in America that he still could. If it came down to it, he'd make you disappear."

"People would look for me," Walter told him. "They have before."

Sherlock shook his head. "You don't understand what he's capable of. It's not just you that would go missing."

Walter froze. Leo. Isabel. Willa. Langston. It would happen just like it had been threatened to happen before.

Sherlock continued, ignorant of Walter's internal plight."I don't want him to do that. I hate when he interferes." He scowled, and Walter saw some of the resentment his own brother had. (Before, anyway, he reminded himself. Dad didn't like him as much now that he was brain-damaged. Langston had become the favourite son.)

"Then don't let him," Walter said shortly. He turned to leave. He wasn't one to threaten easily.

"Walter," Sherlock said, gripping his arm.

He turned back.

"Is there someone in your life, anyone, that you would do anything to protect?" Sherlock looked away as he asked, like he hated to admit that he did. Like caring was a weakness.

Walter softened. "Yes," he whispered.

"Then you understand what I'm doing here."

He nodded. He understood what Sherlock was asking him to do.

"I won't tell John," he said slowly.

Sherlock's whole body sagged in relief.

"Thank you."

It was barely a whisper, but he heard it nonetheless.

"Mycroft will arrange for you to go home. The less time you spend with John the better. I don't want him to... I don't want him to get his hopes up."

"He's going to hate you," Walter told him.

Sherlock nodded. "I've already accepted that. I'd rather have him alive and hating me than dead."

Walter tilted his head. "Yeah, I can understand that," he nodded.

Sherlock took a step back. He turned away from Walter and began to leave.

"What am I suppose to tell him?" Walter asked. Sherlock stopped. "You know my reputation, he knows it. I don't stop until I find something. I'll die first."

"I don't know," he said quietly. "That's up to you."

And without another word, Sherlock Holmes disappeared into the night.

Walter had found him, and lost him, all in the span of less than an hour.

He walked down the stairs carefully. The car was waiting for him at the bottom.