The Trick Revealed

Chp 11

Sorry this took so long! Next chapter should be up later tonight. Oh, and please excuse any grammatical mistakes, I'll have to edit it later as well.

Sherlock thought the sound of the two of them hoping into bed was unsettling, when it stopped so soon and so abruptly, something inside him snapped. Everyone in the study was unimaginably still. The detective and the blond shared a look before returning their stares towards the door. They were both trying to mask their growing concern with the situation. After a minute or two of quieted breathing there was the sound of the bed room door being opened and closed. One set of foot steps. Everyone in the study stiffened considerably, but nobody moved, in fact nobody even seemed to breathe. The door knob began to turn slowly and Sherlock could feel his chest tighten in anticipation. Finally the door opened and there was an audible gasp from the group. James Moriarty came gliding in, his neck and suit jacket were covered in blood. Sherlock felt his stomach drop to the floor, there was far too much blood. Moriarty was smiling, it wasn't like his usual smile, he looked different, but Sherlock was too enamored by how much blood there was to figure out why. He looked for cuts on the man, anything to indicate that the belonged to him, and not to John. His John, missing all that blood. It wasn't true, it couldn't be. His mind was spinning out of control, trying to tie together all of the variables, trying to think of all of the possibilities that included a still living John. There was just so much blood. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't, he was frozen.

"Jim?"

Sebastian greeted cautiously, stepping closer to the bloodied man. Moriarty gave a smile in response; the blond furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Are you ok? D-do you need me to go grab you a new suit?"

Moriarty took a few steps closer and placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"No, why don't you just run down stairs and try to figure out what happened to that surveillance video."

Sebastian shrugged off the consulting criminal's hand almost violently.

"Yo-you're not Jim! Jim would demand a new suit, he hates having his suit dirty, Jim wouldn't smile like that…WHO THE FUCK ARE Y-!"

The fake Jim quickly brought his hands up tightly gripping one at the crown of the blonde's head and the other beneath his chin to firmly grasp his jaw. With an equally rapid motion Sebastian's neck snapped with a sickening cracking noise. The taller man slid to the ground producing a thump. The three captives looked wide eyed in horror at the imposter. Finally he broke the silence.

"Sorry about that…couldn't have him causing a scene…besides; he was sort of a dick anyway."

He gave an apologetic smile that looked out of place on that face.

"Who are you?"

Anthea asked boldly.

"You're obviously not Moriarty, even that moron saw that. So you're one of the projectors. Did you come in here and kill him? Did you-did you hurt John?"

She continued with a quiet ferocity. Sherlock flinched at the last part. He didn't want to think of that. He just wanted to go back, back before any of this happened, back to when he had John. The projector shuffled on his feet for a moment looking about the room guiltily.

"Look, no. I didn't…I didn't come in here even looking like Jim. This is just going to be easier for us to get about ok? Obviously I need to brush up on acting like a deranged psychopath, but with any luck no one else will notice my lack of knowledge in that area. I want to be in and out, ok? I can take on one man but not forty, so let's just focus on getting out for now."

Sherlock stiffened as the man approached and he glared intensely at him.

"Not until you tell us what happened to John. You killed Moriarty, fine, but what did you do with John? Because they both went into that room, and I'm assuming that's where you killed him. Is that his blood?"

He gave a silent prayer. With any luck it was all Moriarty's, it was completely plausible. Maybe he only knocked John unconscious, he could go get him, take him with them.

"I didn't do anything to John…I am John."

Sherlock stared in disbelief, could that be true? He wanted it to be, he wanted John to be here to swoop him away, for them to be together. After everything they'd been through though, it just seemed too good to be true.

"And we're just supposed to take your word on that?"
Mycroft questioned skeptically.

"For now…yes. It takes a lot of effort to change forms with out breaking from meditation, I'm weak and we need to get out of here. I'm still stronger than the average man, but not by much. There are a few dozen projectors down there that could conjure something up to take us out, especially when they see what I've done to their boss. Now let me get you out and we can go, I'll take you to my body and prove my identity."

He reached for something inside his jacket when Anthea butted in again.

"And what if you're just going to take us somewhere else to kill us?"

"Well, then I guess you're dead either way, couldn't hurt to take a chance could it?"

He pulled out a Gurkha knife from his suit jacket and Sherlock gasped. That was John's, that was John's knife he'd gotten while in the army. He knew that was John knife because he had seen it on occasion and there just something so…John about it, that made it stick out from all others. The way he'd taken care of it, it was a bit scratched up from the ware and tear of years of use. It was wiped clean judging by the pattern of blood on the bottom of the projector's shirt, so it was the weapon he'd used to kill Moriarty. For a moment his heart began to swell with hope, maybe it was John. The logical part of is mind told him it was entirely possible for him to have taken the knife from John. Although, it had been back at the flat…but that fit, if this were John he would have had to have left anyway so he'd have a place to leave his body. Was he lying back at Baker street right now? The thought filled Sherlock with another surge of hope. The projection moved forward and began quickly cutting off all of the zip ties off their ankles and wrists with John's knife.

"Stay close."

The projection waved for the three of them to follow behind him as he made his way out of the study. He looked about the hall way cautiously before moving farther down towards one of the other bedrooms. Sherlock was still skeptically hopeful about this projector, but the way he took control…it was awfully like John. Then of course there was how he seemed to gravitate around Sherlock, almost hovering over him as if being just a few centimeters closer would prevent any harm to come to him. The look in his eyes screamed determination, loyalty, bravery…it screamed John. It may have been stupid but as the projection led them into that room, in that very moment, he let himself believe that it was his John.

"Come on, quickly."

John opened the west facing window, above the bushes and surrounding houses the detective could see the sky fading from deep blue to black. Certainly John had planned on the advantages of having the cover of night. John climbed out of the window perched on something and motioned for them to follow. Sherlock scurried over to the exit when John dropped out of sight; he was already half way down the building and making his way down the other half just as quickly. It truly was a sight to see just how fast the projections could move. The detective climbed out next, followed by Anthea and then Mycroft. The three of them weren't as quick but did their best to move with haste. It was a bit difficult to maneuver as they made their way down which complicated things. A ladder would have been too obvious, instead John had inserted peg like objects into the brick which were easily disguised by the thick ivy that covered the left side of the house. It was ideal for keeping it hidden from the other members of Moriarty's organization, but made climbing down significantly harder.

"Careful."

Came John's harsh whisper as Anthea lost her footing momentarily. He was searching the yard for any indication that they were being watched. Fortunately for the moment everything seemed to be going well. Finally the three of them made it the bottom and John rushed them through some bushes until they came to the sidewalk two houses down.

"Listen closely, I've got a cab waiting two blocks down that way, I need you to get to it as quickly as possible. Just tell the man your names, he's already been paid to take you to Greg's house. Once there just ring three times consecutively after thirty seconds you need to ring another five times, ok? Mrs. Hudson will be waiting for you. Don't stop anywhere; don't talk to anybody, just get there ok? Greg has some agents watching the house so it should be safe if anything goes wrong."

Sherlock started to panic, before John could turn to run back he grabbed hold of is sleeve.

"Where-you're not coming with us? And what do you mean by 'if anything goes wrong'?"

Even while wearing Moriarty's face he could see John's loving eyes staring back at him. Something in them seemed hurt and apologetic; Sherlock just wanted him to stop looking at him like that and just go with them. He didn't like this plan already, especially if it meant parting with who he was now certain was John.

"Don't worry Sherlock; I'll come back for you ok? I just have to make this right. I was a knowing participant in a terrorist take over. I wouldn't be surprised if they locked me up after this, but I'll be damned if I don't do my part to fix this first. Some of Moriarty's top agents and most valuable assets are in that house. If we plan to take down the whole organization it is imperative that we gather all of the intell in that house, do you understand? I have to do this."

His face was stern and his voice serious without a hint of there being any room for argument, but his eyes still held the same amount of pain as before.

"How are you going to do that; who is helping you? John, I-I can't loose you again. Please don't do this to me."

His words were broken and there was definite reason to question the state of his lungs as he felt as if he were about to hyperventilate. He'd just gotten John back; he couldn't go back to living without him.

"Lestrade and some of his men will be along in a little bit, but this is something better handled by a projection. I'm stronger and faster, it will be easier for me to stealthily take out agents. We can't risk the police force coming in and the lock down procedure taking place. All of the other facilities will be warned, all crucial or incriminating data destroyed in the blink of an eye."

"There are projectors in there too, they'll out number you!"

"They won't have the time or the mentality to relax themselves enough in order to project. I don't have time to argue with you, I need to get back before they suspect anything is up. My disguise will give me the element of surprise but only if they don't find his body before I get to them. Now you need to get to that cab!"

John gave him a light shove in the indicated direction. He looked miserable and hurt, but there was nothing the detective could do, he was running off faster than he could ever hope to go and Mycroft was pulling him along towards the cab. He stumbled beside his brother for the entire two blocks with a blank expression and an equally blank mind. There was just too much to process and too many emotions attached to what was going on. If there was ever a time that he needed one of those ridiculous orange blankets now was it. Mycroft pushed Sherlock into the cab after Anthea as he gave the driver their names. There were about five minutes of silence as Sherlock gathered his wits before he came to a startling realization about the things John had said to them.

"You won't let John get arrested."

It wasn't a question, the detective wouldn't allow for John to be sent away after all of this. No matter what he'd done Sherlock was going to see to it that he and John were together again. If that meant fleeing the country, so be it. John would protest, his higher sense of morality would make it difficult to convince him to leave, but there were ways to subdue him. He could have him sedated, and then take a plane to somewhere not even his brother could find them. Mycroft seemed to sense his thought process and shook his head despairingly.

"I highly doubt I could manage such a feat given your feelings towards the man. Besides, he is almost single handedly rescuing us and taking down Moriarty's organization. If there are any problems I will merely bring his mental state into question given his four days of torture and the emotional manipulation he probably suffered during his stay. Don't worry brother dear, your doctor will remain with you."

Sherlock smiled smugly, yes, he would have things his way. It wasn't long before they were approaching Lestrade's house (which was considerably smaller than Mycroft's) and Sherlock began to loose his brief sense of calm. John was doing an impossible task it seemed. Then of course there was the fact that he didn't have any solid evidence that it was in fact John. He felt sure, but he was a creature of habit and one of those habits was ensuring that all his conclusions were based on evidence, not on how his heart felt. The three made their way up towards the door and Anthea rang the door bell accordingly. Sherlock waited impatiently for Mrs. Hudson to open the door and began flexing his fingers anxiously. He needed to see John, John's face, his hair, his eyes, his lips, his John. Not John's projection, John. With a growing unease he forced himself to remain composed, and prayed that he was not wrong about this.