((Hey guys! I apologize for being so inactive, with school starting, I've had tons of homework. There's only one chapter left which is pretty much an epilogue, so it's pretty much done! ))

Mycroft sat in the booth furthest back, and kindly told the waitress that he did not want to order anything. Too high and mighty for cafes, Sherlock's older brother scanned the restaurant and its details while he waited for John. Not ten minutes later, John entered through the front door and automatically knew which booth Mycroft would be waiting in. He sat across from Mycroft and took off his coat, setting it next to him. The waitress decided not to bother them.

"I assume this meeting means that you have, in fact, spoken with my brother." Mycroft spoke to the table rather than John, staring down at the scratches, but too lazy to try and deduce how they got there. An energy that Mycroft had not acquired, quite a contrast from his brother.

John nodded, looking at Mycroft even though he wouldn't look back.

"Yes, I did. You were wrong, he did talk to me. And guess what, I'm still here."

"Knowing Jim Moriarty, not for long." Mycroft lifted his head, not meeting John's eyes, the conversation impatient with his gaze. John didn't exactly care.

"You know…I bet if you really thought about it, you could get Sherlock home."

"Please, John, don't entertain the possibility."

John pursed his lips slightly, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at Mycroft. "No, I think you can. But I know it's probably too much for you to handle."

The remark made Mycroft's attention peak. Leaning forward and folding his hands on the table, Mycroft looked at John with an attempt of confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, you had Sherlock do all those cases for you. Couldn't seem to ever do one yourself." John threw the words around like they were no big deal, giving the impression that Mycroft was lazy. He figured it might set him on edge enough to prove to him that he wasn't.

"I have been perfectly fine, solving things without him the past two years."

"Oh, so you're alright with him being gone?"

"John, you know that is not what I meant."

"No, I think you're fine with him being gone. You know where he is, you know what he's doing. More control than you had when he was with me in 221B."

"What, with a criminal?"

"Mycroft, come on." John stopped playing his game, cutting right to the chase. "You can do this."

"John, I thought we went over this. If Jim dies, there will be a number of deaths, there will be murderers roaming the streets. I'm sure he has orders given to people, instructions in case he might die."

"Knowing him, he definitely does."

"So you see why it can't be done. I don't understand why you insist on going through this."

"Because, Mycroft, I want to think of every possible way." John crossed his arms and leaned back. "I'm willing to do anything."

Mycroft played with his umbrella, putting it vertical to the floor, spinning the handle. John watched as Mycroft ran through his thoughts, his dusty brain, but John could see this was a futile attempt.

How lazy can you be? I hope he is open for suggestions.

"Here's what I thought," John leaned back in. "What if we copy him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when Sherlock was on St. Bart's roof, when he had to jump. He had to jump for a reason, and that reason was my life, and two other's lives. What if we do the same for Moriarty?"

"James Moriarty would not hesitate in letting somebody else die, if it meant saving his own life."

"No, I think we can find somebody."

"That can't just be it. There has to be something else to go with it."

John folded his hands together and supported his chin.

"Here's what I have so far."

{{( )}}

The darkened swimming pool. a place where James and John both had rather painful memories. John wanted to meet in familiar territory, but not someplace too public. For instance, St. Bart's roof. John called Jim ten hours before the meeting, and from then on, he prepared himself. He knew that there was no way to fully prep; walking into a battle with James Moriarty, it was impossible to be prepared for that. His mind worked differently than everyone else's, and the worst part was that predicting his next movie was impossible.

John paced and spoke softly to himself inside 221B, the agony of the meet dragging him down. He drank his tea with a mix of adrenaline and fear; also without sugar. They met at dark, and although everything was sorted out, John felt like things were missing from his articulate plan. But then again, he had felt like something was missing for a long time. The familiar feeling greeted him on his way out and shook his hand, respectfully stepping out the threshold and following him in the dark. He leaned against one of the changing stalls for fifteen minutes. His phone in his pocket, ignored. Biting the inside of his lip with anticipation. Twiddling his thumbs. Fifteen minutes, and the door opposite the room opened with a gentle creak that echoed on the water's surface. Jim stepped in; suit, tie, polished shoes. Grin, posture, mischievous aura. Jim let the door shut on its own, creaking to a close as he took silent steps towards John.

Nearly a minute of silence passed before somebody spoke.

"I love this place," Jim began. His voice overtook the room, and soon John felt like he was swimming in it.

"This is where you killed Carl Powers, why wouldn't you love it?"

"More importantly, where I almost killed you. And your little friend. Keeping in contact, are we?"

I figured he might know.

Jim got to the corner of the pool, kitty corner from John, but then stopped. John didn't know if he sensed something was off, or if he guessed John may charge and push him into the pool. Either way, he was fine with it.

"No doubt, you had somebody following him."

"Not then, no. Sherlock is clever enough to slip past me. But getting back is the issue. What, where, when, why, how… It's all about asking the right questions."

"How long can you keep asking? That's what I want to know."

Moriarty grinned and looked down at the concrete floor. "John, you asked me to come here, and I told you the next time we met it meant your life was on the line. Is my life on the line here?"

"It'd be playing fair to just say yes or no, wouldn't it? What a fun game this could turn out to be, hm? Jim?"

The wide grin left Moriarty's face, turning to a deadly glare. He refused to speak next.

"I hope you don't think you can keep him forever."

"Oh, but I can. I can keep Sherlock until I die. I could probably keep him on my side even if I do die. In fact…"

His thoughts trailed off, as Moriarty looked down to see a small red dot appear on his tie. When he looked back up from it, John had a grin similar to Moriarty's, plastered on his face.

"Something wrong?"

Moriarty's lip curled into a snarl; he looked terrifying, but John couldn't be fazed by it. He had too much to lose, so he continued on.

"Notice how, this time, there's no laser on my chest. Only on yours… We've got your gunmen."

A short laugh escaped Moriarty. "I've got others. You must know how many people I have in my employment."

"But none are here. Tonight."

The sounds of the water echoed off the walls; Moriarty had no idea what to say next. As much as he tried to look composed, nothing he did could hide the fact that he was puzzled.

"Something Sherlock said…about Sebastian. A Mr. Sebastian Moran, I believe" John explained, enjoying the hint of fear on Moriarty's face. "Friend of yours? I asked Mycroft about him, and we put everything together. Found out he was working for you, quite a bit. Brought him in just a few hours ago. Now, we're sweeping his phone and his laptop. From him, we found about… thirty other people? All of them working for you."

"Wonderful work, John." Moriarty pinched the skin between his eyebrows, before pulling a gun from his pocket, pointing it directly to John's forehead. Not a flinch; not a gasp or a retaliation of any sort from John.

Just a tiny smirk.

"Do it. Go on. Once I'm gone, Sherlock is free. He can go home. That's what I've been fighting for, and it means I win. Lestrade knows he has a bounty on his life, and he's willing to risk it, for Sherlock. He's got most of your gunmen right now, his fear decreases with every one he finds. And Mrs. Hudson is on her way to protective custody right now. Me, on the other hand…"

John reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gun, doing the same as Moriarty; pointing at the forehead.

"How do you want to do this? Sherlock's life means more than my own. He has proved to be right over and over and over again. So much that it's a pain in the ass. But when I finally got to speak with him that last time, I figured out that I could prove him wrong for once in his life. By getting him home. So what's it going to be, James? Either way, I have you beaten down."

Moriarty's hand was shaking. If he knew it, he didn't care. It was a slight shake, one that you could only see if you were looking for it. John couldn't have been more pleased to see this man shake with uncertainty, with fear of not knowing what to do next.

Proof that James Moriarty is, in fact, human.

John found his phone in his pocket and dialed Mycroft's number.

"All yours."