Chapter 25
"Yes, it's an umbrella," John said irritably, "and it'll blow your face off if you don't put that gun down. Sounds like an honorable death to me."
Moran raised his eyebrows. "Before this gets ugly, may I ask who you are?"
Before John could answer, Sherlock pulled out his gun and aimed it at Moran. "A friend."
Just then, John heard a loud creak coming from behind him. It was Lestrade emerging from the trunk, his gun aimed at Moran as well. "DI Greg Lestrade of NSY. Nice to meet you."
Moran sighed. "You brought the whole cavalry."
"Gun. Down. Now." Sherlock demanded. "Or risk death by umbrella."
Moran set his revolver down on the table and held up his hands in surrender.
"This is insane…" he muttered.
"Really? Because—"
"Because two people with guns and one with a bloody umbrella can't take down an entire network of criminal masterminds. Killing me won't make a difference. Someone will always be there to take my place."
"That's kind of hard when they're all in prison," Lestrade said matter-of-factly. He held up a small, black box in his other hand, "We have evidence that all six of you were here, along with locations, plans, and identities."
John saw that it was an audio recorder. Lestrade must have recorded the entire conference. He didn't remember him mentioning—
Oh. When Sherlock opened the trunk after we got here, he must have given him the recorder.
"This alone can have you arrested," Lestrade continued. "And the best part: you can't kill those fifteen people anymore."
"Wait, wait," Moran laughed. "Do you actually think any of those people used their real names? We're not stupid, Detective Inspector."
Sherlock's brow furrowed, and Moran apparently noticed. "What—did you really think that 'Sebastian Moran' is my real name? Hah! That just proves how much you don't actually know."
John spoke up, "If you're so confident in your plan, why'd you put your gun down?"
Moran seemed to consider this, and tried to reach for his gun on the table, but Sherlock quickly pushed it to the other side of the table, allowing John to pick it up.
"I'm not afraid of umbrellas, you know," Moran said to John.
"You should be."
"You know, I'm incredibly curious…care to show me?"
John clenched his teeth. He felt all eyes on him, wondering what he was going to do. He suddenly remembered his dream, the one where he was at the conference and shot Moran. It was like a premonition.
"Well?" Moran asked impatiently.
"No."
"No?"
"I have a theory, and I want to know if I'm right."
"Do you?"
"You say that your name isn't really Moran…right?"
"Does the name 'Richard Brooks' ring any bells?"
Moran was overtly taken aback by John's hypothesis.
"I originally thought it was Moriarty's real name, but it's really yours, isn't it?
"How could you possibly know that?"
"It kind of makes sense when you think about it. 'James Moriarty' was his real name, but he used yours as his alias. Then you used 'Sebastian Moran' as your alias.
"You didn't want any of the blame to be on you—this was apparent when you made Sherlock and Delgado clean up for you as Caesar, and when Sherlock had to confess to me that he was the murderer. You scrambled up the names enough that Richard Brooks didn't exist anymore. If anyone were ever to catch you, they wouldn't know who you really are, because Sebastian Moran or James Moriarty would take the blame, not Richard Brooks. You just want to save your own skin."
Brooks shrugged, "It's a tough business."
"I'm right, aren't I?"
"Honestly, I can't believe it took you so long."
"Were you the one who was behind everything, even while Moriarty was still alive?"
"You could say that he was my right-hand man, not the other way around."
"Save the confessions for later. Richard Brooks, you're under arrest—"
But Moran avoided Lestrade when he started towards him and punched Sherlock in the stomach. Lestrade and John ran for him as he made his way to the stairwell. Sherlock had to catch his breath before he followed the pursuit.
When all three of them came out from the tapestry covering the entrance to the basement, they couldn't find Brooks. They split up, taking nearly all of the corners of the church. Lestrade called for his precautionary back-up, telling them that there was a fugitive somewhere in Sidcup.
Once they had searched the entire church and the surrounding fields, they gave up. Brooks was gone.
"Well, I wouldn't call it a 'failure'," Lestrade said as the three of them sat on the front steps of the church. "We got a lot of evidence."
"I know you're trying to be a positive thinker, Lestrade, but there is a dangerous criminal on the loose, and none of that will make a difference unless we have him in custody," Sherlock reminded him.
Lestrade held up his hands in mock surrender, "Sor-ry."
Within minutes, they heard sirens coming from all directions, and eventually, the red and blue lights of police cars were lining the curb in front of the church.
"Oh…I didn't take this into account…" Sherlock muttered.
"What?"
"To everyone else, I'm still dead."
When the first officers came to the front steps and saw Sherlock, they only stood there, gaping.
"Yes, yes. I'm not dead. It's miraculous, I know."
The police were unable to located Brooks, but they were given sufficient information to continue the search.
As for Caesar, NSY lied to the media, saying that they had apprehended a suspect, but in a violent outburst upon arrest, were forced to shoot the suspect. His identity was never revealed.
Sherlock explained that Sean Burke had a file on grayanotoxin in his briefcase because he helped Mycroft find the toxin. He had to assume that he forgot to remove the file or throw it away.
John then asked about the chessboard. Sherlock didn't have much to say about it, though. But when John asked what its 'secret' that Mycroft had talked about was, he didn't know.
Finally, there was Sherlock's 'death'. He refused to give a lengthy explanation, but John gathered that it involved Mycroft and Molly. He must have found a way to safely land without suffering any injuries, and used the grayanotoxin to appear dead. The cyclist was also involved: when John hit his head, he couldn't see what was really going on. The body in the coffin couldn't have been him.
"So…who was really in your coffin, when they buried you?"
"Moriarty," Sherlock answered simply.
"Looks like this war isn't over," John said as they drove back to Baker Street.
"No. But that doesn't mean it never will be."
"How do you think we'll do it?"
Sherlock thought about this, "What do you think?"
"I think we need to track down these fifteen people. They might have some useful information. We also need to protect them—Moran…er…Brooks…is still out there."
"Yes…you're right. You know, I am truly impressed, John. With everything. Well done."
"You didn't do too bad yourself."
Sherlock smiled. "Now, there's one more obstacle we must overcome."
"Telling the world you're not dead?"
"No…telling Mrs. Hudson."
John realized that they were on their way to Baker Street.
"Oh God…"
When they arrived on the front steps of 221B, Sherlock stopped to take a breath. "I'm home," he muttered to himself.
Sherlock immediately went to see Mrs. Hudson. From outside her door, they could hear that she was washing the dishes. John was against it, but Sherlock wanted to just walk in and surprise her, while John thought it would give her a heart attack.
In a sense, he was right. When she first saw him, she screamed, shaking her head, yelling that she's seen a ghost. Eventually, John was able to calm her down and explain. When he stopped screaming, she was left with tears in her eyes.
She approached Sherlock slowly, who was smiling, happy to see his landlady again. Once she was sure that it was really him, she hugged him, while telling him how horrible he was for doing this to her.
John thought it was nice to see the three of them together again, even if it had only been two weeks.
Only two weeks…
So much had happened, but now, things were back to normal (for the most part).
They said goodnight to Mrs. Hudson, who was still crying. Sherlock had to admit that he was happy to be back at Baker Street. And frankly, so was John. His best friend was alive and well. He's not a serial killer, he's not a double-agent, and he won't be London's most notorious con artist for much longer.
Sherlock Holmes was back.
Epilogue is on its way!:D