Chapter 11

'A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials'
Seneca

"So let me get this straight, you interrupted my evening because a deadly pathogen is due for release?" John checked with Sherlock. He'd not long since met up with the enigmatic consulting detective and they were now heading for a meeting with Chuin to obtain a sample of the pathogen.

"Problem?" Sherlock turned to him with an eyebrow raised in challenge.

John chuckled despite being very much annoyed at the interruption, "No, it's all good."

"Good," Sherlock led the way down the street; John almost had to jog to keep up. "Harriet made these." From the depth of his coat pocket Sherlock fished out a small notebook that Harriet had scrawled in whilst Sherlock spared their guest two minutes of his time to hear him out.

"Harriet's handwriting is terrible," John commented as he squinted in the dark trying to decipher her loopy writing.

"Yours is worse," Sherlock remarked, "Harriet's has more to do with the drink."

"Mary will be hung-over in the morning," John replied. Sherlock hummed in response not really caring.

-x-

An Hour Earlier

Harriet hastily scribbled notes for John as Sherlock interrogated the man. The consultant detective paced back and forth as he instructed the man not to be boring. Chuin, as he introduced himself, looked taken aback for a second before explaining what Harriet couldn't quite believe.

"You must understand. My family. My girlfriend," Chuin stumbled over his English.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock waved him off having heard it all before. Harriet had sympathy for the man but jotted down threatened family instead of commenting.

"A mutated form of Orthomyxovirus will be released into London," Chuin continued.

Harriet was still trying to spell Orthomyxowhatsit when Sherlock spun around in wild excitement and clapped his hands together, "The pathogen behind influenza, brilliant!" Harriet crossed out her dodgy spelling and wrote what Sherlock said instead.

"I tested on antibiotics, the virus cannot be treated," Chuin buried his head in his hands.

"Who? Who is behind this? It can't be you," Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back curtailing his excitement for the time being.

"I have dealings with Tao Meng, it is mafia in Shanghai," as a teacher Harriet was itching to correct his use of English but didn't, there was a time and a place after all.

Sherlock lifted his hands up to this rest together against his chin, "Chinese mafia," Sherlock had dealings with the Chinese before with the Black Lotus but this was different entirely. He was deep thought as he contemplated what they'd learnt so far. When Chuin began his explanation he made it very clear that he did not know the intended target for release of the pathogen yet Sherlock already had a list of potential ground zeros in his mind palace. What also quite a spanner in the works was the location of the pathogen. Chuin was aware of the location of thirty five percent of the pathogen stores. The other sixty five was stored elsewhere that, the location of which he was not partial to.

"I have listened, Mr Holmes, they have adopted it," this snatched Sherlock's full attention again.

Sherlock repeated his earlier questioned, "Who?"

"Whisperings of a name but it disappeared," Sherlock felt as if he was hit by a train as Chuin spoke. "Moriarty."

"No," Sherlock stumbled back slightly almost as he forget he was stood up, "Not possible."

It took Harriet a few seconds to catch up as her pen scratched away paper. Once she'd written everything she looked down and saw Moriarty's name. Panic began to swell. "Sherlock?"

"He's gone," Sherlock closed himself off as he disappeared into his mind palace. The consultant criminal and his web of criminals were gone. Sherlock had made sure of that himself. Three long years chasing down every connection and he'd missed one. There was always something.

"The name was said once. The funding from him," Chuin didn't know who Moriarty was put could pick up enough from the consultant detective and his assistant to know that it was a name that bought bad things, "The money disappeared, it was mafia who stepped in."

Sherlock took in what was said, "When did the project start?"

"I work on it for one year. It starts four years ago," Chuin replied.

Sherlock had one more question, "When did the mafia step in?"

"Three years ago," the biochemist answered.

Sherlock, in two long strides, was by the door to 221B holding it open, "I'll look into it. Do you have a sample of the pathogen?"

"No," Chuin was somewhat bewildered by Sherlock's eccentricities. Feeling confused Chuin got to his feet and put his jacket back on remembering to pull up his hood should he be being watched.

"I will need one and as much time as you can get me," with that Sherlock followed him down the stairs to see him out leaving Harriet to finish the notes.

When Sherlock returned upstairs Harriet was in the kitchen pouring a large glass of water. It had been a really long night. "Notebook is on the table!" she called from the kitchen in what she hoped sounded normal.

Sherlock appeared in the kitchen doorway with the aforementioned notebook in hand. He wasted no time in flicking his eyes over Harriet deducing everything, "You are worried about Moriarty. Don't be, you saw his body."

"You came back from the dead," she answered instantly, "why can't he?"

"He's dead, Mycroft arranged for his body to be retrieved from the roof," Harriet still wasn't convinced. Sherlock stepped towards her and took the glass from her hands setting it down on the worktop behind her taking both her hands in his linking his musician's fingers with hers by their sides, "It is Moriarty's body that sit six feet beneath my tomb stone."

It took a moment for Harriet to process this information, "But the three years you were gone, how can you be sure that you got everyone?" Knowing that there could be more people like Moriarty out there sent shivers down Harriet's spine. It was one of the things still niggling on in the back of her mind stopping her from jumping back into whatever non-conventional relationship she had with Sherlock before his fall.

Sherlock stared through Harriet with sharp eyes, "I would not have returned putting you, John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade in danger again."

"You sound so sure but this pathogen god, Sherlock, what if it gets released then what?" panic began to swell within Harriet. "I'm not going to another one of your funerals," Harriet's voice began to give out as she fought against a sob.

"It won't! I won't let it!" Sherlock raised his voice venting the frustration of the case and Harriet's sentimental emotions.

"Hey," Harriet let go of one of Sherlock's hands and rested a hand on Sherlock's cheek. It was the first real intimate contact the pair had shared since Sherlock's return. "I believe you. Just stop this and then," Harriet smiled, "we can continue our conversation from earlier."

-x-

Present Day

Sherlock's phone vibrated in his coat pocket, he pulled it out and read the text.

Diogenes, 4am –MH

"Early breakfast with Mycroft," Sherlock tucked his phone away. It was now nearly one in the morning which gave them three hours.

"Lovely, just what we need," John's sarcastic reply produced a smirk from Sherlock.

Sherlock and John arrived at the meeting point. There was no sign of Chuin. They were on a street, Island Row, just to the west of Canary Wharf. The street was dark and quiet as they stood under a damp grotty arch beneath the bridge that allowed the Docklands Light Railway to cross over. John pulled his jacket tighter to keep warm, "He needs to hurry up," John complained, he was very close to having chattering teeth. Sherlock shushed him.

John blew into his hands and rubbed them together to keep them warm; for a night in late May it was bloody freezing. "He's here," John squinted to make out more of the figure in the dark. He couldn't make out his face with the hood up.

"Mr Holmes, I have the sample," the Chinese man spoke. John, under the light of a street light, caught just enough of the man's face to see the fear he'd seen time and time again in Afghanistan as his eyes darted left and right. He was a dead man walking should someone find out what he was handing over.

"Thank you," Sherlock remained stoic as Chuin dropped his rucksack onto the floor pulling out a small metal case. He unlatched the fastenings with the case sitting on the floor revealing a canister of cooled pathogen before swiftly closing the case again.

-x-

With the pathogen sample in their procession Sherlock and John were making for St. Bart's. "I need your phone, John," Sherlock held his hand out expectantly as they sat in the back of a taxi, his other hand with gripped firmly onto the metal box resting on his lap.

"What's wrong with yours?" the ex-army doctor challenged.

Sherlock moved his outstretched hand closer, "Battery." John didn't think for one second that the battery was dead but still handed his phone over. The consultant detective scrolled through his friend's phone till he found the contact he was looking for. Since his return he'd had no way of contacting one of the few people he'd always trusted. He put the phone to his ear and waited for an answer, "Hello," the sleepy voice of Molly Hopper greeted after far too many in rings in Sherlock's opinion.

"Molly, its Sherlock sorry it's early," John highly doubted that Sherlock was really sorry.

"Sherlock?" he heard the rustle as she pulled the phone from her ear to check the caller id, "I-I heard that you were back, I'm glad but can this not wait."

Sherlock took in a sharp breath, "I'm afraid it can't. Mycroft can arrange for your old job back. I need your help in identifying and neutralising an influenza pathogen."

"I don't work for Bart's anymore. I haven't for a long time," Molly replied.

Sherlock continued on, "An instant return will be arranged."

Molly sighed, "N-no Sherlock, I'm not coming back."

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded.

Molly sighed before answering, "I-I have a family now, with Lee, you know the one who phoned John about Mrs Hudson. I'm glad your back Sherlock, really I am but things are different this time round."

"You won't assist me?" Of course the word help was outside of Sherlock's vocabulary on this occasion.

"Sorry," Molly apologised as Sherlock hung up.

John felt anger prickle, "Did you just hang up on Molly after everything she's done for you!"

"I won't work with those idiots in the lab, John. Molly is the only one I'll work with," Sherlock leaned forward to address the cabby, "Change of plan, Baker Street please."

-x-

Harriet was zonked out in Sherlock's bed after what had been a pleasant evening with the consultant detective. Knowing that on a case he didn't sleep she'd commandeered his bed which was far more comfortable than the inflatable airbed on Mrs Hudson's floor. Her slumber was interrupted to the sound of clattering and loud voices just outside the door. One of them was Sherlock's the other John's. Annoyed at the interruption, but realising if she wanted a decent night's sleep then the air bed would probably have been her better option, Harriet threw back the covers.

"Have you completely lost it!" it was John's voice doing most of the shouting.

"No," Sherlock replied monotonously.

Harriet pulled on one of Sherlock's dressing gowns over the pyjamas she fetched from downstairs. Both John and Sherlock turned to look at her. John looked between Sherlock and Harriet and wondered what had actually happened when they got home for Harriet to be in Sherlock's room. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked at the dressing gown with slight annoyance that she was wearing his favourite. "What's going on?" Harriet asked sleepily.

"Sherlock thinks it's okay to open up a pathogen in the kitchen," John wasted no time in getting Harriet on his side.

"Well Sherlock should know better," Harriet grumbled.

The Bunsen Burner was already flickering away on the kitchen table and Sherlock was readying a solution in a beaker, "If you two would stop jumping to ludicrous conclusions you would know by now that I intend to use the metal case to find out where Chuin was storing the chemical. Mycroft's people will have the pathogen identified and seize the remainder." In order to investigate the pathogen properly he would need a contained unit not just a fume cupboard something that he didn't have access to but with Mycroft's help it could be dealt with.

As Harriet made a round of coffee she watched Sherlock busy himself with his equipment. It was fascinating to the point that she almost forgot about the kettle that had long since boiled. Sherlock looked up at Harriet as he dropped acid onto the dirt he'd scraped from the hinge of the case. He paused for the moment and smiled. Having Harriet watch him was akin to hearing John telling him 'that was brilliant.' Harriet smiled back loving that he was in his element. A persistent curl kept falling onto his face and his safety spectacles slipped down his nose. Who was she kidding thinking that she could ever walk away from him? How could she have thought that being without Sherlock was the right thing to do? With a shake of her head she returned to making coffee. Her decision had been made but now wasn't the time to talk to Sherlock about it. She left Sherlock's drink by his microscope where it would probably sit untouched and took John's through to the living room. John was slumped in his arm chair with his head resting on his hand snoring slightly. Harriet set his cup down on the table next to him and returned to the kitchen to watch Sherlock work.

The consultant detective continually muttered to himself and jotted things down into his notebook. Harriet perched on a stool on the other side of the table and watched his every move. She kept her distance worried that she might be a distraction hoping that if she was then Sherlock would voice his opinion. After all that was something he excelled that.

Harriet stayed until she finished her drink and went back to Sherlock's room to read her book. Sleep was out of the question with all the noise Sherlock was making. She left the bedroom door open listening to the sounds of the lively flat and the smell of potent chemicals.

"Miss Thornton?" Sherlock appeared in the doorway with his safety glass pushed up on his head. His suit jacket was discarded and the sleeves of grey shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

Harriet looked up sharply, "yeah?"

"John is sleeping and I need an assistant," Sherlock deliberated for a moment before adding, "please."

"I'm not sure how much I will be, wouldn't you rather have John?" Harriet replied.

"You have adequate intelligence for this," he turned on his heel and left.

Harriet got up and joined him in the kitchen. She hadn't taken offence at his comment but instead felt honoured that he was making an effort to involve her. In a move that surprised Sherlock she stood taller and pecked a kiss on his cheek, "You insufferable arse," it was meant as a term of endearment. Sherlock's cheeks tinged pink in the bright light of the kitchen as he battled to regain his composure Harriet was having her own mini lapse in sense. He tried to maintain cool, calm and collected but inside she could feel a fire igniting.

Sherlock barked out a load of instructions. Harriet was glad that it was a fairly simple task. Sherlock had even cleared a small space for her on the other side of the small kitchen table. Harriet set up Sherlock's laptop and set to work building a list of potential locations for the storage of the pathogen using geology, vegetation and small particulates from dust. She would spend a good ten minutes trying to find a location to fit when Sherlock was give her another location as it occurred to him. John woke up and was soon helping out with his own knowledge of the pathogen and the impact it would have.

-x-

Calling their meeting with Mycroft breakfast was hardly fitting. Mycroft had a cup of coffee, John a tea and Sherlock turned down anything his brother offered just to be difficult. There wasn't actually any food involved in the breakfast which was a shame for John whose stomach had been rumbling for the best part of an hour.

Mycroft didn't keep John and Sherlock waiting long but it was long enough for Sherlock to sit in what John had come to call Mycroft's chair, "Ah brother dear," he greeted upon Mycroft's entrance. It took very little time for Sherlock to tell his brother everything he knew so far and when Mycroft made to suggest that the government would now be handling it Sherlock had his answer ready and answered with determination, "The last time you tried to keep me from investigating it didn't turn out well. I will find a way Mycroft."

"Yes," Mycroft humoured him, "That's your problem you've never been able to leave well enough alone. Tell me Sherlock, how is your girlfriend?"

"None of your concern unlike your weight by the-"

"Really!" John butted in on the conversation, "the two of you are going to do this now? There's a pathogen sitting on the table that can kill hundreds if not thousands and your making petty jibes in attempt to get under the others skin." Both Holmes brothers looked at the silver case as John spoke.

Mycroft collected the case, "Right you are, John. It will be dealt with. Am I to assume that you are working on the location of the sixty five percent that cannot be located?" Mycroft didn't wait for a reply, "You will notify me as soon as. There will be a team ready at your disposal. I will not move to take control of the thirty percent until you do. The last thing I need is the terrorists to panic and release the sixty five percent not with North Korea being a nuisance."

This chapter has given me so much grief, I'm sick of looking at it. Big thank you to those who've reviewed, favourited, alerted and whatnot :)