Chapter 11 – Return to Me

Well, that last chapter seems to have shocked people a bit. The majority of my reviewers are silent. Or perhaps I just haven't given you all a chance to review before I put up this new chapter. But I honestly couldn't wait to upload this one.

BTW, did anyone notice anything in the previous chapter? I've been a bit naughty and put a few clues in there. A lot of clues actually. Sprinkles worth of them. All nice and subtle and playing cloak and dagger with a lovely lot of possibilities. I think I've had too much sugar with my coffee, but here's to re-reading the previous chapter and sussing them out, if you try at all.

Anyhoo, many thanks to everyone who did review. As always, your comments and suggestions and insights and criticisms are all quite appreciated. But, best of all, I really enjoy seeing your enthusiasm for and excitement about this story written out there in words. It is quite a thrill, I assure you.

So, thank you, WL Chastain, sakura-blossom62, Astrido, World'sOnlyConsultingTimelady and beemoh for your reviews. I know it's been quite a hiatus from this story, but I do intend to finish it. So thank you for staying with the story for so long and I hope you and all my other readers will stay until the end of this journey. Again, thank you.

WL Chastain: You, my dear, are a treasure. Yes! I'm alive and I'm kicking and having buckets of fun with the Baker Street boys. All thanks to John, really, and none whatsoever to Mycroft. The boys sure know how to throw a party! *wink wink* Thank you for the grand welcome. Hope you liked the previous chapter too. Damn sure hope you like this one. It is good to be back. :)

I'm still waiting for a 'Sherlock' story from you. ;)

sakura-blossom62: Oh yes, John has a hand in absolutely every pie there is to be found in London town at this point. He's got help, sure, but he is definitely the man behind the scene, pulling all the strings. Well, Moriarty being alive is a given; it had to happen. He's not going to conveniently off himself so the rest of the world can live in peace. The world isnt that lucky. So now everyone is back on stage to play the game. Except, they don't know yet that its John Watson's game they're playing. And John Watson is good at games because he invaded Afghanistan. Hope you like this next chapter too. Happy reading!

Astrido: Sebastian Moran is a tricky topic. There is an explanation for his presence here, but I cannot disclose it now. Rest assured, the explanations will come later. Until then, I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

World'sOnlyConsultingTimeLady: I'm assuming you would have already read my letter by the time this chapter is uploaded. But regardless of that, I will still say again that I absolutely do love your work. And highly appreciate your reviews on my story. I hope you like this next chapter, which is titled after one of your stories as a private dedication. Happy Reading! :)

beemoh: Thank you for taking the time to review. It is definitely about to go down! All the pieces are falling into place. And several things will be revealed. Hope you like this new chapter! Enjoy!

"And so the prodigal returns."

"Your words smack of irony."

"Intended, brother dear. I hear good reports of your … activities abroad."

"Reports that you no doubt had a hand in creating."

The Holmes brothers watched each other across the elder's antique desk in the study of his private set of rooms at the Diogenes Club. Each man had a snifter of brandy at his left elbow that neither had so much as touched, leaning back away from each other as was their practice. Sherlock had arrived out of the blue, without notice, without warning, turning up not only in London, England when he'd been specifically told to stay away, but also within the sacred confines of the Diogenes Club.

It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to be here; his membership, like Mycroft's was permanently open, after all. No. He just wasn't supposed to be in the country. At. All.

But while Sherlock leaned back with the satisfaction of having pulled one over Mycroft with his stealthy return to his London, Mycroft, with better control over what he allowed anyone to see in his face, eyes, posture, speech or behavior, reclined with a private smirk at the slight self-satisfied quirk of his brother's lips. Mycroft, after all, had already known he would be seeing his brother sooner or later. There were far too many people watching him on Big Brother's behalf for Sherlock to have passed under any radar.

But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And so Mycroft was prepared to act his part. Careful, controlled surprise and several pre-prepared endeavors to regain control over the situation. He was, however, glad (privately, of course) that someone else held the keys to the puzzle this time. He and his brother knew each other too well.

"Have you done what I asked?"

"Yes, of course."

"Be serious, Mycroft."

"I do respect the good doctor, Sherlock. There no need to snap at me. Had it not been for your vigilante behavior, we would not have this problem now. I did tell you to leave Moriarty to me."

"You would have missed him, Mycroft. He would have led you around, thumbing his nose at you and your people and come back to hurt John again…" He stopped abruptly.

"And so we reach the heart of the matter." Mycroft raised the snifter to his lips, keeping his sharp eyes on his brother. "I did say sentiment is not an advantage, brother, but you refused to listen."

"And you refused to see that with John, sentiment was never the problem. It was every idiot out there trying to take advantage of that sentiment. The problem," Sherlock bit out, leaning his weight on the table between them with one hand, "is quite definitely not the sentiment."

"Then shouldn't you be at Baker Street now, trying to win back your doctor's affections?"

The detective snapped back as if pushed, flinching away from the question. "I cannot. The snipers Moriarty commissioned for John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade are still active. Until they are taken down, I cannot return to Baker Street." To John.

"Very well then, I believe we are on the same page. Here," Mycroft placed a rather thick file on the table, pushing it towards his brother. "These are the reports of your activities. You may look through them if you wish. I," he rose and straightened his suit jacket, "have a meeting to attend. Your room has been made ready if your wish to retire. All your belongings as well as the young man who arrived with you can be found there. Get some rest."

Sherlock kept his eyes on the file, only his eyelids flickering at the reference to Ash, refusing to look at his brother as he came around the table and walked to the door. "Do remember not to wander, Sherlock. I will see you at dinner." Mycroft pulled the doors closed behind him.

A word to Anthea ensured that Sherlock's detail would prevent him from leaving while this meeting lasted. It would not do to be disturbed, and even less for his persistent little brother to disrupt proceedings at this stage.

Making his way to another part of the building, Mycroft entered the private meeting room at the Club. It was important for the meeting to be held here because this room had three separate secret entrances or exits, depending of what use they were put to. Considering the sensitive topics under discussion on this mission, Mycroft had opened this room for their clandestine gatherings. So long as he was within they would be undisturbed; a privilege of the Club. The only wild card was his brother; locked doors held no meaning to him if he wanted to go through them.

Fortunately, that good man Ash would have special tea prepared for Sherlock and himself. They did deserve to rest after all; it had been a long year.

Once inside and seated at the round table of the meeting room, Mycroft pressed his thumb to a bio-metric scanner that allowed him to electronically lock the doors against all comers unless he wanted to allow them entry. However, since the other members of this meeting were already seated at the table with him, he sealed the doors and nodded.

"The room is secure gentlemen. If we could turn off all our mobiles, we can begin."

Nobody moved. After spending many hours in this space, everyone knew the protocol and all electronic devices had already been turned off. Several others had previously been 're-positioned' to "throw off the scent."

Mycroft looked around at the people sitting with him. "Shall we commence with today's memo?"

Accepting the soft murmurs as agreement, the minor employee of the British Government opened the first of several files before him. "First order of business, Sherlock Holmes. Not only is he back in the country, he is currently situated within this very building. Anthea is keeping an eye on him and I am assured we shall not be disturbed. He is, and has been for some months now, in quite capable hands."

One of the men opposite him questioned, "We know how adept he is at escaping from seemingly impossible places. Are you sure he will be securely held here?"

"Ash makes good tea, Doctor," he smiled when the other grinned in understanding. "There will be no suspicions. Anthea and I will take complete responsibility when he awakens. He looked to be in great need of rest. And you well know Sherlock Holmes listens to very few. You, at the moment, are unavailable." The other man nodded, accepting Mycroft's reply, knowing there was nothing more that could be done about it now.

Removing a paper from a file, the doctor continued, "What is the current status on Moriarty?"

A young woman dressed in second-hand but clean clothes looked around, unsure of whether or not she could speak. Encouraged by the doctor's gentle smile she leaned forward and began haltingly, "We – we have seen Moriarty in London for the past few months. He walks around with his head down or wearing a hoodie, hands in his jeans pockets. There is nothing special about his clothes, nothing to make him stand out. He hasn't been wearing those suits we were told to look out for." She stopped and bit her lip.

"Go on, Chessy," the doctor said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"He's been following you, Doc John, and your Inspector friend. Standing around outside of 221B Baker Street at random times. Sometimes he comes to your crime scenes. Watches you and your friend. We and your people have tracked him walking all throughout the city. He doesn't seem to be doing anything but walking and looking. Some nights he stands under the window of your flat and listens to that classical music you play on the CD."

"Does he suspect anyone of watching him?"

"He knows about the Homeless Network. And he doesn't come anywhere near the underground areas when it is evening or night-time. But your people more than make up for that. They're everywhere. Most of our news comes from them when he goes out of the city or towards the docks or the construction areas. Our network doesn't go that far, but your friends do."

The doctor laughed, "Yes, they're good at that."

"Do you know about his safe-houses?" questioned Mycroft.

"I don't know about any but one, sir. He's staying with that shooter fellow. Moran. At those abandoned Nicholas Cage flats."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes sir."

"Mycroft, don't scare her. You know she's right. I've told you as much."

"Just making sure of things John." He switched to another file and looked at another member of their secret gathering. "Colonel Moran, good of you join us. Report, please."

"Moriarty got into London about 3 months ago and has since been biding his time. I've seen him following our targets, Dr. Watson and DI Lestrade. He doesn't seem too interested in the landlady. At least not personally. But all our contracts are still active for all targets. One of my boys saw him at the flats the day before yesterday. He looked around and left. As of this morning, he's moved in with me and for all intents and purposes, intends to stay there for some time."

He looked at a paper in front of him and continued. "He asked about the status of the previous operatives Andrew and Aaron. He knew about their arrest, but asked me anyway. I've told him about Simon and Tom, but I doubt he will approach them himself since I've also said that they have standing orders to shoot-on-sight should anyone try to approach them without a pass-code. It seemed to satisfy him for some reason."

"On the other hand, he's angry at all the losses he's incurred across the world and he's looking for revenge. He wants me to pull together a small army of varied skill-sets. I've already spoken to Dr. Watson about this. He's assured me he will pull together a team that I can present to Moriarty when he next asks. In return I've told Moriarty I'm calling in some of my old army comrades. I trust you will handle their backgrounds for when Moriarty goes snooping."

"Which group are you pulling in?"

John Watson smiled, "Command 1. Ben's team. They'll be here the day after."

The British Government smirked, "I should have known." He turned back to Moran. "Everything will be ready when you need it."

"In which case I should probably requisition for arms and ammunition now. Under the radar of course."

"I'll deliver them to a location of Dr. Watson's choice. You can pick them from there."

"Send it to any army surplus store. I will know when it gets there and I will inform Moran. That way its random and nothing gets traced back to anybody."

"Very well."

The DI, who had been present and listening silently to the conversations flying across the table cleared his throat and asked, "Do we know who he's targeting this time?"

Moran looked at everyone else at the table and stopped at Mycroft. "He wants to take down both the Holmes brothers. Moriarty's reached the conclusion that Mycroft could be only person with the power and the resources to bring down his criminal empire. After the Chinese and the Serbians, apparently. And because he doesn't know that Sherlock is still alive and in the city, he's going to go after the contract targets. It's supposed to symbolic. They are known to be under your protection in lieu of Sherlock. Hurt them to hurt you. He figures, since it worked once … well. In what order of significance though, I don't yet know. We'll have to wait for when he tells us his plans."

"Very well. Is there anything else to report?" Mycroft looked around at the others, nodding at the lack of a reply. "Captain Watson, what are our plans now?"

John Watson smiled. "We have Moriarty right where we want him. He's in the city, surrounded by our people ..."

"More like your people, John," observed Mycroft wryly.

John cleared his throat, sporting a light blush as the others chuckled. "Ah, well, yes, my people. Alright, you guys! Can it!" He glowered at everybody, but couldn't help letting his expression slip at Mycroft's raised brow and Lestrade's smirk.

"Yes, as I was saying, he's surrounded by my people. There is nothing he can do now that we won't either know or be able to immediately counter. Ben will join us at 0500 hrs the day after. I already have a safe house up and running for them where they can crash. Let him try and fail. The more unsettled he gets, the more mistakes he will make. We pick up the slack and I finish him off. He will never see it coming. Not from me."

"And Sherlock?"

"If he agrees to be good and only if he is accompanied by Ash, yourself and Lestrade, he can have a ring-side seat to watch Moriarty go down. What he does after that is up to him. But Moriarty is mine."

Mycroft nodded once sharply. "Agreed Captain Watson. What is your time frame for this … event?"

"I suppose bringing this theater to an end on the day it officially began would be fair, don't you think?" John asked musingly.

While some of those present looked confused, John and Mycroft were on the same page. Not for the last time did Mycroft thank whatever lucky stars he and his brother could claim to have for a man like John Watson to be willingly and vocally very much on their side of the mayhem. As Sherlock's friend and partner, the man was an incomparable asset. And going by that glint in his eyes, John knew exactly what he was thinking. Unnerving. That he should have learnt so much from Sherlock and then to have it turned on him. Mycroft subdued a cold shiver that ran down his spine.

Nodding decisively he spoke, "Perfect symmetry, seeing as how you were supposed to be the original target. Do we need that long?"

"Honestly, no. I could ventilate his head tonight. But I want everything to be out in the open by then and Sherlock's name cleared, our slates wiped clean, at least officially. We need to be able to start fresh. Public memory can be dealt with later. It's the now I'm more concerned with."

"I'll start getting that anonymous material out then, shall I?" Lestrade said jokingly.

"Might as well," John shrugged and winked at his friend. "You don't want this one to become a cold case."

"Ha! No. No I don't. I'll get right on it tomorrow." He looked across to the British Government. "Will you be dealing with the press releases and Kitty Riley?"

"There will be a list of the papers which will run our news on your desk tomorrow morning. And no, the Sun will most assuredly not be on it. If we can gain public pressure through the media, NSY will have no reason to not re-open the case."

"Shall I leave that political wrangling to you then, Mycroft?"

"I assure you I will enjoy it, John."

"Good then. Fine. Until Ben gets in day after, there is little to do but wait. I'm almost sure Moriarty will have something for us by then as well. I'll be in touch through the usual routes."

Mycroft cocked a brow and John minutely shook his head. Satisfied that the good Doctor was not in danger of being discovered, he declared the meeting at an end. "The same protocols for leaving this place will apply. And we may have to change our venue for next time. We will have to be more vigilant now with Moriarty in the picture."

"As long as its not another abandoned warehouse."

Mycroft refrained from rolling his eyes at John's teasing comment, even as a smile tugged at his lips. John was one of the few people completely at ease with joking with the British Government. John was a friend.

Bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, he nodded at everyone as he rose from the table to disable the electronic lock down on the room. With the system disengaged, the others took their cues to leave, waiting for Moran as before.

Moran stood and shook hands with the others before turning to a section of the floor to ceiling painting on the wall behind him. Unseen by the others, he did something that caused a section of the wall to slide back and out, revealing stairs leading up. As he went through, the wall slid back into place seamlessly, the mechanism locking behind him.

From a cupboard along the way, he changed into a set of black clothes. Moving up silently, he came to the first of four different exits to the roof and looked at the array of camera and CCTV feeds being monitored there. Satisfied that the roof was clear, he nodded to the agent at the desk, punched in an access code at the door and cautiously stepped out. Simultaneously, three other black-clad people used the other three roof-top exits, all of them keeping to the shadows and making for their respective drop-off points.

Trusting his weight to the high tensile wire, one end of which was attached to the buckle on the belt keeping his trousers up and the other to the wall of the building, he pushed away and made the jump down to the street. Unclipping himself, he went to the skip nearby and collected the weapons he had previously stashed away inside. Then he walked down to the car he had parked a street away and drove back with the lights off. From then it was simply a waiting game.

He didn't have to wait long.

The door to the Club opened, only a dim light shining through as always. Three people were picked up in one of those sleek black cars Mycroft preferred and driven away. Following them was simple, and as always, their trip ended at Baker Street. The DI had more or less moved in at 221B from all accounts. His marriage was rumored to be on the rocks and his wife had moved out long ago. The two bachelors had been living together for over about two months.

All three passengers of the car entered 221B Baker Street. Only then did the vehicle roll silently away. As always, he made up his makeshift bed in the backseat of his car and settled in for the night. Exchanging a few texts with the men keeping watch over the house, he established the no-one of either Moriarty's or Sherlock's description had arrived at this location for as long as they had all been gone. No doubt, the Doctor had done the same inside. Ah, there was the all clear signal; he could hear Vivaldi playing in the flat. Satisfied, he made to sleep, knowing one of the others would wake him for his shift in a few hours.

~ Ash's POV ~

When Sherlock left to meet Mycroft, it was understood that Ash would not be following him in. This was a meeting of brothers, antagonistic and barely civil, but required. It was just as well, because he doubted he would have been able to present himself as remotely civil at just that moment.

He wished he could take a switch to the younger Holmes.

Commander Watson had specified quite clearly that Sherlock wasn't allowed to be in England, much less in his brother's Club until the end of this mission. Ash had every intention of following that order to the best of his ability. And he had. He knew he had. Until one overbearing, pompous, ignorant, arse of a detective decided to call the airlines and order their tickets behind his back.

They'd been in Calais, France, enjoying some much needed post-case rest. And for once the detective hadn't shouted 'Bored!' while sitting at the beach pouring over a thick medical text. In French. Ash had been very appreciative indeed. Sleep had become a luxury in the time he spent with Sherlock and he'd often wondered how Commander Watson tolerated the man.

He should have known it was too good to last.

Under the pretense of there being an urgent case to solve, Sherlock the human whirlwind had made all the arrangements, packed their bags and checked them out of their hotel. He'd been waiting in the lounge of said hotel typing out the 34th text to Ash in 20 minutes, demanding that the man return immediately. Thinking the worst, Ash had. Only to be pulled out and away in the wake of the detective, tickets to Luxembourg clutched tightly in his hand.

Sherlock insisted that they should drive some of the distance since he needed to think and had already rented a car for the purpose. Leaving Ash to load their bags and settle into the passenger seat, Sherlock bought a map from the local newspaper stand and got behind the wheel.

Somewhere along the way, Ash was drugged with a fever inducer and a sleeping pill. He never realized when Sherlock turned them around and drove them all the way into London.

Once there, they'd gone to ground in one of Sherlock's safe houses in Soho. Ash recovered two days later and Sherlock told him the truth. When he realized that John's plans must already be active, he had no choice but to agree to visit the Diogenes Club with Sherlock the next day.

But while the detective was out making arrangements for transport, he made contact with his Commander and reported in. To say that John had been angry was an understatement. Still, he'd understood because he knew Sherlock, and Ash had received his new orders.

Which is how he was now standing in the very place in which his superior officer was attending a clandestine meeting. Things could not have been worse, but for the fact that Ash had been authorized to use any means to disable Sherlock for as long as necessary until ordered otherwise.

Of course, it was a good thing he'd been playing Words with Friends with the elder Holmes' PA over the last six months. She was his ally in the house who provided him with everything he needed. When Sherlock returned from visiting with his brother, it was with a contemplative expression. Ash knew from experience that no good would come of it for any of them if Sherlock was allowed to finish his train of thought.

Next step: Ash's special tea laced with a strong sedative courtesy of Anthea.

It was understood that the younger Holmes would be relocated once the drug kicked in.

Sherlock Holmes had returned to John Watson, little knowing that now that he was here, his return would be orchestrated by his unobtrusive flatmate, to be revealed and used only when required and not a second before. In response to his wishes, the Diogenes Club was now a fortress designed to keep one Sherlock Holmes in.

Sitting in the favorite armchair in 221B Baker Street, John Watson read Ash's latest text and smiled.

~ John's POV ~

Within 6 hours of Moriarty's official arrival in London, every underground movement knew the scales were once more balanced. Consulting Detective against Consulting Criminal. But that was superficial, a mere façade.

The real scales of power were in the hands of an entirely unassuming little chap, a blue-eyed blond who had a predilection for unsightly jumpers and tea, a ready smile that made him appear to be cute and cuddly and nonthreatening, like a human sized fluffy teddy bear toy that could see no evil, speak no evil and honestly, could you really expect him to do anything even remotely evil? There's people who would laugh you right out their door and into the asylum for even suggesting such a thing.

No, no, John Watson was as quiet a chap as you could ever know. He was friendly and sweet, charming and chivalrous with the ladies, a real gentleman, well mannered and well dressed; for all that he looked like somebody's favorite uncle. And he was an Army Doctor. Well, that just proved that the man could do no wrong.

But people did talk.

'So sad the way his friend died. Jumped off St. Bart's roof, he did … Poor doctor's all broken up with grief. He hardly left the flat for months after; even his landlady didn't hardly see him about … These days he seems better though. Goes to the pub with that police inspector friend of his … And some days he goes for grief counselling to some big posh place in a grand black car … His landlady said so to Mrs Turner last month. Said she finally convinced him to go somewhere private and what a relief it was …'

The doctor's legionnaires brought him every single scrap of new and gossip on the street and in the underground. He'd known before many others when James Moriarty became a regular haunt of pedestrian London. He knew when Sherlock Holmes set foot on London's soil. He knew when he was being followed by the criminal. He knew where Mycroft's detail was at all times. He knew when they picked up on Moriarty's presence.

He knew what days the criminal liked to stand across the street from 221B's windows and listen to the music leaning against the light pole or sitting on someone's stairs. He knew when the criminal had come snooping at 221B when he was out with Lestrade.

He knew that Moriarty would know he would never drink tea in a cup that was newly filled with torn pieces of a familiar coat soaked in old blood. He knew that Moriarty expected the nightmares to return in their fullest intensity that night. He knew Moriarty would be standing below listening to him scream.

"SHERLOCK!"

He knew Moriarty would laugh.

John Watson knew a lot.

And he took that knowledge and used it against the man who had single-handedly ruined the new life he had created for himself.

Captain John 'TC' Watson had once invaded Afghanistan and survived.

James Moriarty would burn.