The Doctor & The Detective

Mycroft sat at his desk, facing his brother's stony face and John Watson's mask of indifference.

'Mr Asan and the terrorist cell which he was involved with has been taken down, thanks to you. I would like to thank you, Doctor Watson.'

'What did he want with Moriarty?' Sherlock asked, frowning slightly.

Mycroft sighed. 'Let me explain from the beginning: It wasn't Asan's original plan to kidnap John, that was an afterthought. He wanted to make this weapons deal with another cell who are working out of the Kremlin.'

'Where they planning on using this weapon here in London?'

'It's possible, probable even, but now we will never know, thank goodness. When John went to meet Asan posing as Alexander Petrovik's handler, he knew something wasn't right. John was being watched by Asan's men, they did a background check. Asan made a quick decision. He misunderstood your involvement with Moriarty.'

'That bastard still manages to hurt people.' Sherlock said quietly, looking a John pointedly.

'Quite.'

#####

'Sherlock, come and sit down.'

Sherlock was pacing the round the flat, hands interlocked behind his back. He was wearing his pyjama's and a new black robe. John streched languidly, his eyelids feeling heavy. He picked up his book.

'I can't work out, John, why Asan's cell would be want Moriarty's guts for garters.' He sighed heavily, his strides getting quicker.

'Moriarty killed somebody Mr Asan was close to, he told me.' John mumbled through a yawn.

'But why?'

'Why do you think, Sherlock? He was asked to do it. Someone had a problem, they went to him. He gets a kick from other people's dirty work.'

'It just seems too petty, too easy.'

'Sherlock, Moriarty's dead, Mr Asan is been taken down and we will never locate the person who's favour Moriarty did. You'll have to cope with not knowing for once.'

'Ugh. Not knowing is boring.'

'Deal with it, Sherlock. Come and sit down.'

Sherlock relucantly complied, throwing himself down on the sofa haughtily, almost landing on John. The latter was tired, comfort was taking over as Sherlock slid closer to him, resting his head on John's jumpered shoulder.

'Can you not do anymore of Mycroft's work please, John. It makes me rather worried.'

John put down his book, a dog-eared copy of 'As You Like It' that he'd found in the bookshelf.

'I bit off more than I could chew, Sherlock. You were right as always. But if Mycroft needs me to help, I will. It's what I do. It's in my blood. You put yourself in danger everyday when you're on one of your cases, this is the same. We have to accept it.'

John lifted his arm and wrapped it around Sherlock, pulling him into his chest. He ran his fingers through the detectives dark curls and listened to his breathing. They stayed where they were, unmoving, finding comfort in eachother's closeness, until the doctor and the detective fell asleep.