Almost five weeks later, John quite literally collapsed into 221B, enfolding the floor in the best hug she could give it.

"Never again," she mumbled into the wood as Sherlock tripped behind her, collapsing over one of her arms.

"Hmph," Sherlock agreed.

Going on a massive treasure hunt with an old coded puzzle piece painting map was not nearly as fun as it sounded. Indiana Jones was a hero.


India

The trip started off awkward. For whatever reason, Sherlock could barely stand to look at anyone around her, including John. Her eyes flickered up but never for very long. Every time John tried to make conversation, she was shot down. The entire plane ride was silence as Sherlock stared into space and John failed to nap.

The Mumbai airport was absolutely bustling with people. John was thankful for the chance to stretch her legs but less so when a man barrelled into her with his cart full of heavy luggage. She fell flat on her bum and hissed at a few of her pulling stitches.

Sherlock dove for her, her hands running up and down John's sides, inspecting every inch of her while hissing fast-paced insults at the man who left without a word of apology. "Morons crawl every corner of the earth. As blind as they are dumb. Are your stitches holding? How are your ribs? You were holding them on the plane. Inhumane how they pack us in like sardines. I would have purchased first class but the trip was last minute-"

"Sherlock-"

"One degree of the wrong angle and your ankle could have been shattered. If that man is who they consider for employment at an international airport I weep for the world. He shall be unemployed within the day-"

"Sherlock-"

"Idiots clog up all the space that should have been reserved for the rest of us. Darwin has failed us all. It's-"

"Sherlock, I'm fine!" John held up her hands but Sherlock's were still roaming. "Sherl-" John grabbed her by the wrists and forced her still. "I said I'm fine."

For the first time since John's return from her kidnapping, Sherlock finally looked at her straight in the eyes. Her eyes were pinched in pain. Her fingertips grazed John's forehead as she pushed her stubborn bangs out of her face, reminding John instantly that the last time Sherlock had looked at her this intensely, it resulted in a very heated make-out session. John on the floor, Sherlock above her. Just as they were now.

Sherlock traced the bruise colouring John's temple once before abruptly removing her hands. "No. You're not." With a flourish, she was on her feet and twirling towards the exit, leaving John to catch up on her own.

Sherlock was mostly silent yet again but mentioned they were headed towards the Thar Desert which would be at least a two-day drive. John was more than willing to stay in a hotel for the night but Sherlock complained that she could have slept on the plane if she were tired and could sleep in the car all the same. After a quick stop for food, Sherlock rented their car and drove non-stop for ten hours.

John slept for most of the trip, not because she was tired, but to get away from the looming silence that seemed to suffocate the air with an intense awkwardness. Silences with Sherlock had never felt like this before. John felt the urge to ask if she were mad at her for something but that was ridiculous. If Sherlock were mad, she would not hold it in.

Stopping for the night was an argument, so at least there was something to break the tension. John never needed to learn how to drive growing up and she was not about to learn in a foreign country. There was no way she was letting Sherlock stay up a minute more. There was no telling how long she had been up while John was away.

"If you keep going you'll drive us both off the road and kill us," John argued. "Or maim us and I've had enough of that for now, thank you very much."

Sherlock's protests fell silent and she pulled into the closest motel without a word.

A certain part of John felt at home when the reached they outskirts of the desert. Afghanistan was not all that far away, after all.

Sherlock held her phone, charging on the portable battery pack, in front of her face, muttering at the zoomed in map and decoding letter. Fairly soon they were in the middle of nowhere in the blazing hot summer sun of India, nearing their final destination, hills slowly approaching.

Sherlock finally broke her silence, as if she were too excited to allow herself to continue her pout. "This is it, John! The most probable location of the seven and no sign of Moriarty. All we need to do is search for-"

Sherlock fell instantly silent and froze in her tracks. John walked to her side and froze as well.

In the hills, carved into the earth were the words UPSIDE DOWN, written upside down themselves. Sherlock burst into a right fit, throwing her phone and battery, screaming at the empty land beyond, which scared the surrounding wildlife including one very vengeful monkey who ran for the discarded phone. Sherlock dove in order to save it and hissed at the monkey until it ran away. When she popped up she was covered in sand and looked absolutely miserable.

John wiped the sweat soaked hairs from her neck and pulled her shirt up to wipe the sweat from her face. "If Moriarty left the message, that means she made the same mistake. Which means she's probably already at the correct location. Rightside up."

Sherlock hissed at her as well.

When they returned to town, it was with fresh sunburns and empty stomachs. Once John forcibly made Sherlock eat and drink they were on their way to the closest airport. The next most probable location turned out to be Russia.

Of course, since they had a slapdash meal in order to rush their plans for the next location, they both ended up with a rotten case of food poisoning.


Russia

Having food poisoning on a plane was something John never, ever, ever wanted to repeat in her lifetime. They did not want to alarm anyone else and it was truly not the worst Doctor Watson had ever seen, but it was awful. Purely awful. Luckily for them, they had enough foresight to book first class so they had a slightly more comfortable surface to writhe on.

"We need active charcoal," John groaned.

"Don't be ridiculous. We're not overdosing."

"Works the same, you twat."

The flight attendants were sympathetic but unhelpful. The most they could give them was water. John and Sherlock spent most of their flight with one in the bathroom and the other sitting just outside the door, waiting for their turn or to sprint to the back if need be.

"Moriarty," Sherlock hissed from inside.

"How the hell did she give us food poisoning?" John wiped at her sweaty brow and opened a new water bottle, grabbing her side. The bruises meant even more pain for her. Yay. "She beat us there. Don't know how she did that either."

Sherlock's answer was preceded by a groan. "She would find a way. That blasted-" Her fist crashed into the door, "-cow!"

They made it to Russia with their guts somehow still intact but it necessitated a break for rest, water, and showers. Too soon they were on the move, spending most of their money on clothes and gear appropriate for hiking in the snow. They could not use their cards for fear of Moriarty tracking them. Sherlock had a few fakes -which would be discussed later, John was sure- but even they were traceable. Only in an emergency.

"We're going into the mountains then," John asked for clarifications sake.

Sherlock only glanced at her.

It was an improvement from full out ignoring her. The food poisoning required Sherlock to physically check on John more than once. While half asleep, John had actually caught Sherlock almost touching her, checking on one of her stitches.

John supposed that was the end of it. Whatever they were attempting to do before, the choker, the safewords, the names, the wandering hands, the making out, the not-so-accidental orgasm. It was over. Give it a few more days and everything would go back to normal. No more games, no more touching.

It was strange to think about it. Sherlock and herself had never really been actively physical before. They had casually touched often but never on purpose. And yet, now that they had and Sherlock took it all away cold turkey, it illuminated all the ways they would touch no more. No pats on the back. No shoulder squeezes. No fixing necklines or wayward strands of hair. No grabbing mobile phones out of pockets. After having it all, there was no way to go back halfway. All or nothing. And it was nothing.

Sherlock answered her, "We need a guide."

Much to Sherlock's annoyance, it took them a few days to find a guide who would agree to take them to their destination. The reasoning became abundantly clear soon enough.

"Uh, Sherlock?" John tossed around on her side of the tent and yelled. "Sherlock, wake the fuck up!"

Sherlock jolted upright. Not even she could resist sleeping after a tiring hike. "What?!"

"Our bags!"

"What about them?"

"They're gone!"

The only things left to them were what were on their backs, the blankets, and the tent. The traitorous guide took all the food supplies, electronic devices, and their painting puzzle piece.

Moriarty had friends in all sorts of places who knew all sorts of things.

It was either turn around or keep going. They had already spent two days hiking. Sherlock wanted to push on.

"Even if we get there, and that's a big if since we don't actually have a map." John held up a hand. "You have your mind map, I know. But it is fifty below out here and I am not going to rely on your brain, however brilliant it is, to get us there and back in once piece. What would even happen if we made it and the treasure was there? We'd have no way of claiming victory or calling a crew to excavate. We'd just add more time on to our starvation."

"Don't be dramatic, John. We wouldn't starve! That would take a great deal more time. If you trained your body as I do-"

"Did you just call me dramatic?!"

The fight lasted much longer than it should have. Long enough to get them caught in a whirling storm. Even if it was still fall, the mountains did not know it.

"This is your fault," John snapped between chattering teeth.

"My fault?!"

"If we had discussed what was happening and made a plan-" John screamed behind clenched teeth. Her zipper was stuck in her hair and she kept trying to pull it all free but her bulk gloves made it nearly impossible to grab onto anything. "God fucking dammit!"

"You as well as I know that there was no time to make a plan. Moriarty has been a step ahead of us for nearly-"

"I don't know that actually! Because while you were figuring all of this out, I was lying in hospital, all by myself, with a concussion!"

"And what would you have done to help? All you've done for this case is get yourself kidnapped, twice, and hang off of Martin who-"

"Frank!"

"You've been running around in your own head while I've been doing all the work!"

"Are you joking? Did that really just come out of your mouth right now? Because you've really been focusing so much on the Work haven't you, miss?!"

"Do you really want to go there, ma cherie?"

"I would love nothing more than to argue about this but if we don't do something soon we are going to die of hypothermia. Unzip your jacket and come here and hug me!"

"John-"

"Now!"

"Fine. But I am not getting naked."

The storm decided it for them, as did their growling stomachs. They hiked back down as soon as they could, debating over what to do when they finally reached civilization. Sherlock refused to call Mycroft over this and John refused to head back up the trails without help they could trust. Even if it was Mycroft.

When they reached their hotel room they both froze in their tracks. Taped to the door was a note with a big M scrawled over the front of it.

Darlings, it is so good to know you did not die of a cold! I've left you each a present to make it up to you. See you soon, dearies. I'm off! xoxo

At least Moriarty did not find the treasure in Russia or she would have gloated.

On their bed -only one available, no double rooms- was the decomposing body of their guide, his neck split open with his blood drenching the sheets. To the left of the bed, under the window was the form of a young man, handcuffed to the radiator. When he looked up, John gasped.

"Tim?"

"Who?" Sherlock asked.

"Timothy Miller. Gabby Miller's son." John ran over to him to make sure he was alright. Physically he looked fine. A bit dehydrated and there was sick on the floor next to him. No doubt due to the dead man on the bed. "Sherlock, I need you to pick these cuffs."

"You do it," she said, leaning over the dead man, inspecting his slashed throat.

"Sherlock," John snapped.

"Fine." She sighed and dodged into the bathroom to look for something to pick a lock with.

"Tim?" John gently lifted his head into the light and tried to catch his gaze. "Are you alright?"

"Is my mum alright?" He whispered, eyes half closed.

"Tim, are you-"

"They gave me back," Tim kept whispering, his breathing picking up pace. "They gave me back. Does that mean she's- Does that mean she's okay?"

Mycroft necessitated a phone call. The dead man's blood had splashed on the phone in the room but John ignored it and Sherlock as she dialed.

Over the phone, Mycroft informed her that the Italians and Germans had both somehow caught wind about the treasure hunt, no doubt the fault of Liam Gunilla. Mycroft offered his services for the removal of the man in the hotel room and an escort to lead them into Poland, a neutral area, in terms of the treasure chase, where they could decide their next move. There were still five more options on the exceptionally blurry mind map left to explore but the priority was getting out of the country as soon as possible before they had more unexpected visitors. And there was now Tim to worry over.

"He's an ankle weight," Sherlock snapped. "He's only here to slow us down. We're leaving him here and going to the next location."

"We are not leaving a child alone in a hotel room with a dead body, Sherlock. We're just not. And that is final."

The crossing into Poland was far more exciting than either of them would have liked. Sherlock refused to wait for Mycroft's escorts at the hotel so they set up a meeting near the border. They flew across Russia on Mycroft's dime and rented a car for the crossing to avoid the busy crowds of people that could include any sort of undercover operatives.

They entered the agreed upon shop to meet Mycroft's men and get new supplies. Not all of Russia was as cold as the mountains and their only clothes kept all of the heat in. Timothy also needed need clothes. Ones that did not include blood and vomit stains.

It was while they were in the store -looking like the unhappiest family on a shit holiday- they were approached by a man and a woman on their left and two men on their right. They were all in plain clothes but John's senses were tingling.

"Sherlock," she whispered as she reached for the closest shirt and held it to Sherlock's chest. It was completely wrong on her. A lumpy pink and blue patchwork sweater. It made John smile briefly before she nodded towards the goons surrounding them.

"I see," Sherlock replied, handing a different one over. Her retaliation was a pair of overly sized bright blue overalls that rolled well beyond John's boots.

John pushed the overalls back on the rack. "I take left, you take right?"

Sherlock tilted her head to the side. "Too much attention here."

"Alleyway?"

"Alleyway."

They both turned to run but stopped at the sight of Tim, directly in front of them, holding up a pair of jeans.

"Let's just leave him," Sherlock muttered.

"Tim," John smiled cheerily. Tim turned to her, folding the jeans over his arm. "I need you to take this cash and pay for your clothes. Take the keys and meet us at the car, alright?"

Tim took the cash and keys hesitantly, his hands shaking. "Is she back?"

John pushed her smile wider and grabbed him around the arm. "We'll only be a few minutes. It'll be alright."

"Just do as you're told," Sherlock snapped. "That's what children do, isn't it?"

"What about grown women acting like teenagers?" John teased.

Sherlock ignored her and addressed Tim. "Four people are following us. John and I are going to lure them into the alley and find out what they want. You are going to do as you were told and sit in the car with your head down. Understood?"

Tim's eyes darted around the store, locking in on their followers remarkably quickly. "Understood."

Just as John had hoped, as soon as Tim walked away the two pairs of two continued to follow Sherlock and herself to the back of the store, paying the young boy no mind.

"Shall I count us down?" John asked.

"If you must."

"Three, two, one, go!"

They bolted out of the door and through the emergency exit, directly into the alley. In an instant the sound of multiple pairs of feet clomped behind them, giving chase.

John ducked behind the door as Sherlock lay flat against the wall.

Sherlock tripped the first man to come out and therefore sent the woman chasing directly behind him falling over the top of him. They scrambled against the ground as John thrust the door into the next man, shoving him into the man behind him.

One of the men swore in German. Apparently John slammed the door into him hard enough to knock him out. One down, three to go.

The man Sherlock had tripped scrambled to his feet and held up his hands. "Miss Holmes?"

John might not have been able to place the accent right away if it was not for Mycroft's phone call letting them know the German and Italians were onto them.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The Italian asked again. "My name is Liam. We spoke over the phone."

Sherlock closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "A text message would have sufficed."

"You weren't answering."

The woman that had tripped over Liam bound to her feet and grabbed at Sherlock's arms, pulling them behind her back and forcing her to arch into the grip.

Sherlock struggled but the woman had her in a stronghold.

"I wouldn't have done that if I were you," Sherlock grunted.

John leapt at the woman with flying fists. An elbow to the face had her stumbling away from Sherlock while a fist to the gut had her toppling over.

Sherlock leapt forward and smacked a leg into the German that had tried to sneak through the door, his fellow comrade still unconscious.

"I apologize," Liam yelled out, his arms still up. "I would not have hired Clara but it is a lot of money. She is only here to supervise, not to harm you."

"More ankle weights!" Sherlock yelled as she dodged a punch from the returning German and shoved him to the ground.

John took a punch from Clara to the shoulder, her bad one, and stumbled back a step. Clara tried to kick her to the ground but John caught her foot and shoved her around, tripping her into a heap of boxes that crumpled under her weight.

John spun around to see Liam reaching for his pocket and took her chance, tackling him to the ground and punching his face once for good measure. She thought he was going for a gun but the only shining thing that toppled out was a small gray mobile phone. She tugged it into her hand and hit him over the head again with it clenched in her fist.

A hard something smacked into John's side, directly into her still pulsing bruises, and she fell off Liam, glaring up at the sight of the German with a plastic crate in his hands. He was pulling up for a second hit when she spun around and kicked him in the groin with both feet. He fell to the side, dropping the crate and cupping his crotch.

Sherlock had her fists up and was practically boxing Clara, dodging nearly every one of her blows and returning the kindness with a broken nose. There was blood smeared on Sherlock's knuckles and a slash on her jaw but that looked to be the worst of it. It only took two more hits for Clara to fall to the ground, her body limp against the asphalt.

Sherlock turned to John and they shared a wide smile.

Then, the sound of a gun echoed in the alley directly behind John's head.

"Let's try for a better introduction," a man with a German accent spoke. In front of John stood the other German, a grimace on his face, his free hand still cupping his balls, his gun also cocked. "The map, if you please."

John sucked in a harsh breath. All this leaping about was running her ragged. After all she had just had been kidnapped, beaten, acquired food poisoning and neared hypothermia all within a week, not to mention any new cuts from this scrap. Her patience was wearing thin. "The map?!" she yelled. "We don't have an actual bloody physical map!"

"Not physical, you say?" Asked the German in front of her. His face seemed to light up in understanding. "Ah, this is Sherlock Holmes. Of course." He then said a few commands in German that John did not understand and the man behind her disappeared. He reappeared next to Sherlock with a gun to her head. John tensed to attack but the German in front of her still had a gun aimed at her. "I apologize, Doctor Watson. You services are not required now that we have our map. You understand there can be no witnesses. The child included."

"I understand you can piss off."

"John!" Sherlock yelped. "

"Good day, Doctor," the German held his gun to her forehead… and froze.

They all froze at the sound of police sirens wailing up the street.

In the distraction, John disarmed her attacker and hit him over the head with the butt of the gun. She trained the gun on the other German who was trying to pull Sherlock with him but Sherlock was a fighter, squirming away from him, giving John just enough room to take a shot. The German slinked out of range just in time for her bullet to explode against brick but it scared him enough. He dropped Sherlock and ran.

John grabbed Sherlock to make sure she was alright but Sherlock shoved her along and they both sprinted for the car, the doors unlocked, Tim laying down in the backseat.

Tim started talking as soon as the door shut behind them. "You were taking forever so I called the police. I heard a gunshot. Are you-"

"We're fine," John yelled back at him. "Or we will be. Move it Sherlock!"

"No," Sherlock hissed. "We're staying here. Everyone keep out of view. Give me your phone." Sherlock reached for Tim's mobile and grumbled as she flipped it open and clacked the buttons. "I need a better phone!" She yelled and threw it on the ground. "I can't do anything with this outdated technology. It doesn't even have a camera!"

"Would it help if I say I..., lifted this mobile." John smiled and held up Liam's smartphone towards Sherlock.

"Oh, John, I could kiss you!"

In the immediate pause that followed, John's face burst into a fresh color of red and flushed right down to her toes. Sherlock's eyes landed on her lips and John's dropped to Sherlock's, immediate memories of their drunken mutual getting off bursting to the forefront.

Well. They needn't worry about that any longer.

Mycroft's men showed up soon after. Sherlock berated them for the awful timing but was more than happy to shove Tim over to them and rid herself of any responsibility.

With fresh technology at hand and a map in her brain, Sherlock determined Moriarty was going to travel to either Jordan or Saudi Arabia next.

"So," John asked, "How are we getting there?"

"We're not."

"We're not?"

"Is there an echo. No. We're going to Hong Kong."

"Hong Kong?"

"There it is again. Curious."

"Why are we going to Hong Kong? If Moriarty is going to Jordan, shouldn't we? Wouldn't that be the next most likely spot?"

"That map is blurry at best. Completely unreliable."

"Then why have we been following it?!"

"It is a waste of time. Moriarty is already long gone and has taken her advantage. We would no doubt be too late."

"So we're betting it's not there and forging on ahead." John waited for an answer that never came. "We've never let the odds stop us before."

"The temperature change of the desert would be far too grueling. I'm simply making use of the tools at my disposal. You and I are not pawns and I am not sacrificing us like soldiers for an unfruitful move."

"Oh," John nodded along. Jordan, Saudi Arabia. "You don't want me back in Afghanistan."

Silence returned, long enough for John to think she would go unanswered before Sherlock mumbled under her breath, "Do you want to go back?"

"No- Yes- You know it's complicated Sherlock."

"Well I'll make it less complicated for you. We're not going."

"I'm a big girl, Sherlock."

"Congratulations."

"If that's where we need to go. We'll go. I'll follow you anywhere, even to hell all over again. You know that."

"I do." Sherlock finally glanced up from her phone and stared at John once again. Her eyes seemed to lock on John's temple for a moment before her gaze fell down her neck. "And that's the problem."

John thought about letting that go. But the instant Sherlock's eyes left her she felt a rage fill her. "What is your problem?! What are you talking about?"

"I don't have a problem," Sherlock scoffed.

"Yes you bloody well do! You've barely looked me in the eyes for days now. You're not bloody talking to me unless it's to snap at me. What the fuck is going on with you?! Is it-" John found herself falling silent, staring at Sherlock's mouth, unable to finish asking, is it me?

Sherlock glanced at her, down at her phone, and whirled off in the opposite direction. She did not stop as she called back, "We're going to Hong Kong."


Hong Kong

The problem with Hong Kong was its geography.

"It's nothing," John mumbled at the screen zoomed in on the address the map pointed them towards. "It's a giant circle of residential homes, a tea shop, and a museum."

They were staying at the Royal Pacific Hotel after yet another horribly long flight with two layovers. They left the horrible travel time out of adventure action movies for a reason.

The puzzle map could only be narrowed down to a small range of a few kilometers because of its blurry nature and landed them in the city.

Sherlock's phone pinged.

"Who is texting you?" John asked, annoyed. That phone had been buzzing the entire trip and then some. It was not even their phone. "Is Liam angry we have his phone?"

"No," Sherlock sniped.

"Then who-"

Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast, drowning everyone else out. John sighed. She needed a drink.

The hotel was really rather nice, especially compared to a freezing cold tent or the cramped tube of an airplane. The bar was busy, it being just after dinner. John pulled up a seat and waited her turn, holding her head up with one hand.

"My, my, my," a man called behind her, voice teasing. "Is that Doctor Watson, I spy?"

John groaned aloud. She did not feel like dealing with this at all. "Ian. What the bloody hell are you doing in Hong Kong?"

Ian gracefully slipped onto the stool next to her. "I could ask you the same thing, my dear."

Ian Adler was his usual self. Slim and graceful with his dark hair trimmed and swept back. His face was lined with a perfect five-o'clock shadow. His muscles just straining enough to be seen under the silken button up exposing just enough chest hair. His jewelry glistened, a silver watch and a sapphire ring. Damn him for being so attractive. John would never forgive herself for so shamelessly eyeing him when they first met. It was worse because he knew exactly how attractive he was, smirking and leaning closer to her.

He dropped his voice conspiratorially, "What are you doing here, Doctor Watson?"

"If you're looking for Sherlock, she's upstairs."

Finally, the bartender came over.

Ian spoke before John had the chance, ordering in Cantonese. He turned to her and winked. "Dark and Stormy, on me. You like ginger beer, don't you John?"

"As much as I love running into you halfway across the planet. I actually came down here to be alone, so if you don't mind-"

"Is our Sherlock being her usual self then?" Ian chuckled and paid for the drinks as the bartender approached with two bubbling highball glasses, lime wedges sitting on top. Ian handed John her glass and said, "Drink first John. You are my elder, after all."

John growled but took a sip. She was too tired to defend her age.

The drink burst over her tongue like a fireball. Ginger was right. Spicy and packed full of flavor.

"Wow," she said aloud.

"Wakes you up, doesn't it?" Ian asked, taking his own sip. "You looked like you needed a bit of waking up. Long flight, was it?"

"You could say that," John mumbled.

"On another adventure?" Ian pointed to her bruised and stitched up face. "Looks like you've had some trouble."

John lifted her eyebrows and eyed him warily. "Really?"

"What? I'm inquiring after your health, my dear." Ian lifted his glass in mock solute. "You have some mighty scratches. I was being friendly. No ulterior motive." He winked. "Promise."

John shook her head and had to smile just a bit. Such a bloody bastard. "Yeah. Just scratches. Thanks for the inquiry but I'm fine. And before you ask, no I don't need a nurse to kiss me better."

"Your loss," he chuckled. "But how is our Sherlock? We both know how right a mess Sherlock gets when her things are scratched up."

"Sherlock's fine."

"Is she now?" Ian raised his eyebrows mockingly high and gestured to the rooms above them. "You've resumed your dalliances then, have you?"

John could hear her teeth clack together as her jaw clenched shut. Ian looked rather smug as he sipped from his glass.

Dalliances? Seriously? How large was the neon sign that said she was down with women that Ian Adler could follow it all the way to Hong Kong? Not that it mattered anymore. They had not resumed any dalliances and would never do so again. But he looked very cocky for a man who dallianced for a blackmail living.

John decided not to feed his ego. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Suddenly, Ian's finger stroked around the curve of her ear, down the side of her neck, and traced the line of one collar bone. "You don't?"

"I'm not gay," John snapped on instinct, pulling back. Her mouth instantly felt too dry and her chest tightened. She shoved the feeling away with a large gulp of drink.

"Of course," Ian chuckled sweetly. "But I can only imagine the disaster you two have made of my favorite art form. You can imagine why I am curious I have not yet received a call. I'd be more than happy to show you two the ropes, as it were."

"No. No way. No." John swallowed down another large gulp of drink and had a sudden need to get into their shower as soon as possible. The very last thing John needed was the image of Sherlock tying Ian to the bed while he begged to be caned like the bad boy he was. Or worse, Ian tying Sherlock down as she begged him.

"If you change your mind. I'm only a text away." Ian slipped his business card -a slick black rectangle with only a phone number on it- over to her and stood, fixing his shirt and stepping back. Of course he only took one step before turning dramatically to say, "Before I take my leave, I want to give you this advice."

John took another gulp and sighed. She swiveled to face Ian head on and patiently folded her hands in her lap, waiting for him to continue. The picture perfect student.

Ian took it upon himself to impart his wisdom in quiet, solemn tones. "Somehow, you of all people have managed to crack open that shell Sherlock hides herself in. I will never stop trying myself." His smile curled into something regretful and a tad bitter, "But you already have. Inside there is a delicate creature you must care for. Even as her submissive, you are still responsible for her. She feels a responsibility towards you. Can you imagine how she felt watching Moriarty take you, wearing that choker as you were?"

John opened her mouth to speak but Ian cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Yes. I saw the photo." His fingers reached out again, just barely grazing the base of John's neck before pulling back. "Sherlock was meant to be taking care of you. She feels she failed. We both know how she handles failure."

"That's not-"

"You are hers as she is yours. You two have crossed a line you cannot come back from. Skip whatever crisis you feel you need to have. She is already in one. Shit happens. Embrace it. Stop thinking. Or someone will come and sweep her up from under your feet."

John was left frozen, stunned into silence.

Ian said abruptly, "If you'll excuse me. No more chatting I'm afraid. I have a job to do." He smiled lavisciously. "You know him actually. Goes by Martin Morstan, when he's with you."

"Martin?" John's heart jumped to her throat and she scanned the room, hand jumping to the belt where she had her hidden gun, given to her by Mycroft's men. "He's here?"

Ian shook his head. "We're all on a leash in some form. I'm here to yank the bad doggy back. At least it's on a casino cruise. America Cruise Line Volendam. Plenty of ways to make use of my time there. No need to worry darling." He pat her arm consolingly. "He's not my type. Now, Colin Firth. Ohhh I don't understand what that man does to me. Any requests for the ex?"

"If you could kick him where it hurts most, I wouldn't mind."

"I'll make sure he knows it was from you." He pat her on the arm once again and said, "Be a dear and tell Sherlock I said hello, would you?"

John slowly sipped the rest of her drink.

Martin was going to die. Not that Martin ever really existed, but he was really going to die. Ian would bring Frank back to Moriarty and that would be it forever. She was not sure how she felt about that. She loved him, didn't she? Even if Martin was actually Frank there was no reason to celebrate the death he had coming. She could stop it, if she tried. Ian let her know all the information she needed. Sherlock could continue the treasure hunt without her. She could save him. Save a mass murdering, manipulative, psychopath. All because she loved one of his facades.

Right then.

She stood up and slowly walked back to the room.

Leave it to a frenemy to lay out exactly what was wrong with everything going on in John's life. He really took the time to dumb it down for her. He did care. Maybe it was only enough to care to get Sherlock into bed with him but it was some sort of caring.

John cared for Sherlock and vice versa. So it made sense that she was upset by Moriarty's kidnapping. But did Sherlock really blame herself? They never could have predicted what happened. Sherlock did all she could as fast as she could and John came out relatively unharmed. There was no reason to feel like a failure. Sherlock would never be a failure in John's eyes.

Did Sherlock think more happened? Did Moriarty lie to her? Tell her things that were untrue? Did Sherlock think Moriarty raped her?

John opened the door to their room to find Sherlock fresh from the shower in her new clothes. A flowy version of her usual suit. No custom tailoring halfway around the world. Or at least none that would fit their timeframe.

She still looked gorgeous as ever. She and Ian would make a fine pair. Maybe that's exactly what they would end up being now that she and Sherlock were no longer a thing. Partners forever but only for the Work. If that's what Sherlock wanted, John would not stop her.

John walked into the room and took the phone off the table, searching for a place to eat. "We're eating."

Sherlock sucked in a large breath, ready to argue. "I'm not wasting time-"

"We'll go to one of the places near the map location. We can do some surveillance and figure things out from there. In the meantime, you and I both need to eat something more than airline food. I may not be able to control everything Moriarty throws at us but I can at least feed you up."

"I don't need feeding up."

"I trust you not to actually starve yourself to death. Most of the time." John paused and made sure to catch Sherlock's eye for a moment before looking back down at her phone. "I trust you with a lot of things. But let me take care of you in the ways I can, alright?"

They did not end up finding the treasure stuffed into the wall of some residential complex. Nor hidden in the museum or the basement of the tea shop. They did however find a mob of angry businessman who were very miffed at having their poker game interrupted. Sherlock eventually managed to convince them all that she and John had no plans to disrupt their very illegal activities in her broken Chinese, Cantonese, and Mandarin. John confirmed her story in her perfectly good English which two of them men spoke almost fluently.

That tangent took a few days to manage. Lucky for them they were the nicest kidnappers ever and treated them very well, holding them in a hotel room and bringing them three meals a day with plenty of water. John was not complaining.

Sherlock was. Very often and very loudly.

They wrangled a deal where nothing more would happen if John and Sherlock left the country that very night. Out of options and since the treasure looked to be somewhere else, they accepted and were escorted to the airport.

It was probably for the best that they took John's gun. Even though they were not in America it was still hard to board a plane when one had a gun. More difficult was the complete lack of money. They would be using one of Sherlock's cards which meant they were on an even shorter timeline. Moriarty would not be far behind.

"Alright. Where are we off to next?" John asked cheerily, ignoring the goons at her back.

"Egypt." Sherlock grunted, glaring at the phone. "It was the part of the map Moriarty did not have originally. She could have been there already"

"Why didn't we go there first?"

"It was not the most likely. There was no need to waste our time on something just because we had a slight advantage if it would lead us nowhere."

"I guess we'll find out."


Egypt

John had visited Egypt once before with an alien enthusiast ex boyfriend and remembered the train being a reasonable option for transport. She was wrong.

It was like they were stuck in some sort of black and white Western film about cops and robbers. The colors faded and the gun slinging commenced when the two Germans made another appearance.

Sherlock spotted them first, poorly hiding their bruised faces behind newspapers. Sherlock and John gracefully rose from their seats and quickly stepped into the next car, immediately trailed by the Germans behind them. John spun around and shut the door, sliding the lock into place, and then they started sprinting.

Only to be stopped at the next door at the sight of Liam and Clara charging towards them, neither one looking particularly happy.

"Ah," Sherlock said.

Too late to block the door Liam walked through first. He had a brace taped around his broken nose and black eyes to match. Clara stepped directly behind him, her hand on the hidden gun at her hip, a frown fiercely in place. She only seemed to be sporting a split lip, though she did favour her left side.

Sherlock was the only one of anyone who looked remotely unharmed.

"Ms. Holmes. Ms. Watson." Liam greeted sharply. "If you could please come with us?"

The shattering of the door behind them had them all jumping. One of the Germans had shoved his elbow through the glass and tore at the lock, shoving the door open.

Sherlock spun toward the Italians as John took the Germans. She had no gun, again, but they didn't know that so she held her hand under her jacket threateningly.

John was just about to suggest an emergency stop for them all to get off to protect the cowering passengers when one of the travelers stood up, just in front of Sherlock, and pulled a gun from the back of his trousers.

The new man addressed Liam in a cold American accent, "I don't think they will," and then punched Liam in the face.

The passengers swarmed towards the free exit, many hitting the emergency alarm. But the train did not stop.

The Germans launched at John and she focused on disarming. Sherlock grabbed the first gun as John forced the closest man to drop his from a death grip. Sherlock blindly held out the gun and John smoothly snatched it from her, clocking the other German to the side and throwing the safety on, slipping it over to Sherlock.

"Holmes, Watson," the American yelled while dodging a blow from Clara. "Little help would be appreciated."

John jumped in and kicked Clara in the knee, throwing her into the closest chair. The American struggled with Liam just as one German started throwing large shards of glass from behind.

"How unfortunate," a man behind them yelled out. He had the familiar cadence of a British accent and appeared from the rubble of the smashed door, a German trapped in his arms in a chokehold.

"It is," said another man with the brogue of a Scott. This one struck the unnamed British man across the head and shoved him into the seat.

"STUPID," Sherlock yelled aloud, dodging an angry Liam and shoving him into John.

"What?" John yelled back, spinning Liam to the floor and spinning with her back to Sherlock, caging her in her arms behind her back, shielding her with her front.

"We have no advantage," Sherlock yelled into John's ear as she kicked an approaching German.

The Egyptian workers were now getting involved, crowding people away and trying to fight their way through the mess of Italians, Germans, American, Brit, and Scott. It was getting harder to keep track of who was meant to be punched and who was meant to be shoved back.

Sherlock pointed towards the Scott. "Moriarty was following Liam. He had the other puzzle piece the entire time."

John silently thought this train brawl could actually be her fault. Ian Adler. He knew what hotel they were in. He knew where Sherlock was. Mycroft sent Sherlock the copy of the map to the German's phone. Ian easily could have snuck into the room and hacked it while Sherlock was in the shower. Info for info. Frank for the map.

Sherlock paused and then hissed. "She doesn't need him anymore."

The Scottish man Sherlock labeled as Moriarty's goon grabbed the two of them by the arm and yanked them back as the American was sent flying by a German.

"Let us depart to the other cart, alright lassies?" He pulled them harder towards the crowd of people herded by the Egyptians.

"Get off me!" John yelled struggling to get out of grip as she tripped around someone on the floor.

The goon's grip tightened as they shuffled back, shoving them both into the mass of people. He spun towards where they came, grabbed Liam who was struggling to follow, and shoved him towards the group of fighters. Then he announced, "Ready when you are. In 3. 2. 1. Ignite."

The door that had once been intact exploded.

Everyone screamed. The Germans, the American, the Brit, Liam, Clara, and a few travelers were all swallowed up by the loud blast, hidden behind the bloom of red and orange fire.

The train split with a loud crack.

Everyone on their half rocked towards the gaping hole at the back of the cart, the rest of the train lost, getting smaller in the distance.

Their half of the train was slowing. Moriarty's man tried to grab John by the arm but she fought out and dove for the injured. Sherlock grabbed her by the arm and shoved her on.

"They will be helped, John. Leave them. They'll be fine!"

"I'm not leaving them!" John yelled.

"There are a pair of doctors on board. Husband and Wife. Both of them are quite capable, now let's go!"

They ran down the tracks and put as much space between them and Moriarty's man as they could. He only chased them for a few yards before touching his ear and coming to an abrupt stop.

After a few days of laying low and pinpointing landmarks that seemed to be lost, they narrowed their probable location down to a 10km radius.

"Must it be another desert," Sherlock grumped.

"Remote. No one wants to stand in the heat and dig. Perfectly good hiding spot."

Sherlock hummed. They were in a new motel for the night. At least this one had aircon. Broken aircon, but at least they tried.

John held her hair on top of her head and panted out the window that only opened a crack stripped to almost nothing. "I am very much ready to take a pair of scissors to my hair right now."

Sherlock smirked from her spot on the floor, dressed in only a towel. "No one's stopping you."

John had planned to retaliate with a remark about no one stopping Sherlock from putting on some clothes but the sarcasm slipped away from her. Instead she found herself staring at the towel so much like a sheet. Just as white and just as likely to fall open. Just like the night Sherlock first whispered the words I have a proposition.

Her smirk fell and she swiped at her brow, pulling her fingers over her face and back into her hair. She pulled until the pain of her own grip made her stop. There was not time to deal with this.

Without a guide to lead them and unwilling to search for another probable Moriarty goon after what happened the last time, it took them a bit longer than expected to find exactly where X marked the spot.

Sand. Sand everywhere.

They were sure they had the location wrong or the treasure was somewhere else.

John managed to grab Sherlock's phone before she could throw it and shoved it into the pack around her waist they had picked up before heading out. The pack she had was only allowed to be called a 'pack' because every time she said the words bum bag Sherlock threatened to cut it into tiny pieces and cram it down the shower drain. Still, call a rose by any other name and it was still a bag that goes around a bum.

Without a phone to throw, Sherlock ended up kicking the ground vehemently. Repeatedly. Over and over. Until she heard paused long enough to look at the ground and dove towards a dirt pile.

"Did you seriously find something?" John asked.

Sherlock slowly swept away the top layers of sand. From the dusting, she pulled out a small brown and gold box.

"Holy shit," John breathed.

It was old. Just old enough, Sherlock was certain. This was it. She immediately started jumping around, nearly cartwheeling down the dunes.

When they returned to town, they found a ragtag bunch of men and women for an excavation crew who they could pay to keep quiet.

They returned to the site at night. Sherlock pitched a tent, John fixed it, and then they both started a fire. It was desert conditions and John was familiar with what would be expected of them, but did not expect to find their expedition trucks pulling up over the horizon so quickly.

It was only as the trucks came close enough that they could see it was not equipment that they held in their buckets, but dead bodies. Specifically, the dead bodies of their expedition crew.

"Son of a bitch," John groaned.

Between the two of them, they had limited supplies and only one gun. They barely made it out of the train. There was no way they could square off against the enemy and win.

The truck lights clicked off and Moriarty jumped down into the sand using the hand the Scott held up to help her down. She greeted them with a wicked smile, still somehow dressed to her usual standards while knee deep in sand.

"Darlings!" she greeted warmly and reached out with one hand. One of her lackeys pushed a canvas thermos into it. She took a long, large, audible gulp and shook it at them. "Did you want some, dears? It really was a scorcher today. Mmmm." She smacked her lips. "And you've been in it practically all day, poor things."

"No, thank you," Sherlock growled.

"What the hell are you doing here?" John snapped. "Aren't you supposed to be in Jordan?"

"Johnny boy, is that you?" Moriarty squinted through the firelight and chuckled. "I hardly recognized you without your collar. Maybe if you get down on your knees I can see you better." She cocked her head to the side and crumpled her brow to comical depaths. "WHAT is THAT?!" She pointed at John's waist and mimed the bag that wrapped around her. "For the love of GOD, Sherly! How did you allow this to happen? Are you punishing her?!"

Sherlock merely twitched a brow but John knew her well enough to understand she was fighting agreeing with Moriarty. It was only John there keeping her from saying the words.

"Bum bags are very practical," John said instead, thrusting her hips forward and reaching behind herself for her gun, tucked between her shirt and the belt. She did not lift it, wary of the Scott, but held it at her leg, ready to attack.

Moriarty dropped her jaw wide open and gaped at Sherlock like a deranged lunatic.

Sherlock cracked and her eyebrows lifted in mirth.

It was enough to cause Moriarty to chuckle with delight.

John simply sighed and adjusted her grip on the hilt.

Moriarty swished her hair back and charged on swiftly. "Jordan was not completely useless. Can never have too many friends with guns, if you know what I mean. And if I'm the one one providing the guns, well, at least we know they work."

"You are late to the party, I'm afraid," Sherlock said.

"Am I?" She asked, loud and rhetorical. "Why, I thought I was just on time." She snapped her fingers and, like magic, the trucks and machinery roared to life once again.

Sherlock's eyes danced from Moriarty, to the trucks, to the dead beings dumped to the ground. From those bodies, a few faces stuck out. The expedition crew, one of the Germans with horrible burn marks marring half his face, and Liam.

"You're cheating," Sherlock growled.

"Cheating?! Muah?! No, no, my darling. I'm winning. You've been such obedient little puppets. I think that deserves a reward. I will allow you to stay and watch."

Sherlock ground her teeth. "I found it first. I won."

"You found nothing," Moriarty snarled "Don't you want to see what it is?"

Sherlock looked like a child caught on the edge of her seat, her hand in the cookie jar already.

John grabbed her by the arm. "We should go."

"Oh, but then you'll miss whatever it is!" Moriarty called teasingly. "You won't know why. Don't you want to know why? Sherly?"

Sherlock hissed through her teeth. She kicked the sand and stomped back to the tent to gather their things.

"Sherlock?" John called but she did not turn around.

"Ignore her," Moriarty called. "She's pouting. She had the lips for it. As do you." Moriarty spoke loud enough for Sherlock to hear. "Your pet is a marvelous kisser, by the way. The blood made her taste like wine."

Sherlock hurled a torch out of the tent and nearly hit Moriarty in the chest.

Moriarty's eyes barely flickered towards the hunk of plastic. Instead she stared at John. Her eyes gleamed with her victory, her face shifting in the dark of the night and the flames from the fire. Her smirk slowly fell to absolute nothingness. She just stared like dead goldfish, directly into John and did not so much as breathe.

John slipped the safety off her gun and ignored the Scott who did the same. What was the life of one ex-soldier if it meant this madwoman was wiped from the face of the earth? Hell, Sherlock would take care of the Scott. Justice all around.

"A word of warning darling," Moriarty called over the noise of the machines just as Sherlock emerged. "They're just animals. No need to get so attached. There are more of them."

Sherlock dropped whatever items she had picked up and stomped towards Moriarty until they were toe to toe. "And what are we?"

Moriarty blinked life into her twinkling eyes and met Sherlock's threat by tilting into her space and whispering with all the awe in the world, "Evolutionary marvels." The staring continued between them, some form of silent communication that barely required twitches. "When you get sick of playing with your pet, feel free to come boss me around."

Sherlock slipped her feet forward, the tips of her shoes grinding against Moriarty's. She folded her body forward and sneered, "You wouldn't do what I say."

"You would have to make me." Moriarty leaned right back into her, tilting her head into Sherlock's space. "And oh, wouldn't that be fun. Think about it."

Sherlock's eyes danced, up and down Moriarty's face, doing exactly that.

John cleared her throat. "As much as I would love to see what kind of fucked up sex games you gals could get up to- what with you getting off on pain-" she nodded at Moriarty and then Sherlock "-and you, well, let's face it. You're perfect for each other. I'm in need of a shower. I'll just hop on the chopper, shall I?" She huffed a laugh to herself as she spun and shoved her way past the tent.

She would kill for a real chopper right about now. Where was Mycroft when they needed him?

"John-" Sherlock jogged after her.

"Rain check, my dear." Moriarty chuckled. "You can pick out my collar."

Sherlock turned around and yelled, "You'll be in handcuffs!"

"Don't tease if you don't mean it!"

John did not end up going very far. She made it only a few paces beyond the tent before Sherlock reached her and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

For the briefest moment John allowed herself to lean into that touch. It was the first time Sherlock had done it in weeks. The first time that she had actually allowed herself to touch John in any meaningful way. That sweaty, chilly hand stuck along John's tacky skin and it was perfect for the two seconds it rested there.

"She's planning to start another war over this. Or at least escalate tensions more than they already are." Sherlock said. Then the hand was gone. Slipped away as quick as if John had bit her. "Her plan was to have us followed by the others. Then Liam would lead her directly to all of us. No matter who found the treasure first she had what she needed. Dead bodies from the Italians, Germans, Americans, Russians, French, and Egyptians."

John's brow furrowed and she spun to face her. "Who?"

Sherlock plucked her shirt and gestured vaguely at the dead bodies. "Clothes give them away. Apparently more government agents have been following us, ones we had yet to meet. I knew they were there of course. I did not know from which countries specifically. Of course, I had my theories."

"Of course." John shook her head and leaned back to make sure Moriarty was still in the same spot. Her eyes still on Sherlock. Watching, waiting, like a cat preparing to pounce on a mouse. "All those government officials and a missing treasure to start a war? That's really it? Money? Money can't be an issue for her. Can it?"

"There's something else."

John knew she and Sherlock were stuck until Moriarty let them leave. The Scott had them within gun range and had a tendency to twitch anytime John fiddled with her gun. They sat and waited.

One of the men started yelling an hour or two later. He pulled up another box, similar to the one Sherlock found.

Moriarty called them over gleefully, handed Sherlock the box, and said, "Tell me what you see."

Sherlock took the box and inspected it from very angle, opening it up and dumping its gold and silver looking jewels to the ground. Her fingers traced over every inch of the box once and then stopped on one of the corners and glanced up at Moriarty. "You're German?"

Moriarty burst into laughter, loud enough to echo across the dunes into the next town. "German? No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No, no. Did you really think you were searching for Nazi gold?" She screamed an obnoxious sound like broken buzzer. "Try again."

Sherlock turned the box towards John and showed her the spiraling M that swirled over the golden leaves in the hidden corners.

"I thought Moriarty was a fake name," John said aloud, staring closely at the way the M curled upwards.

"It's mine," Moriarty growled. "As is this treasure. I don't like others touching what is mine. Speaking of, Johnny have you measured your neck recently? Padded leather doesn't stretch and I want to get it just right."

John did not answer, too awestruck by the monogram. This entire time they were searching for Moriarty treasure. They did all that for Moriarty. It was impossible to believe.

"Now that the fun is over," Moriarty sang, "I'm afraid it's time for you to leave."

Sherlock snapped her head up and opened her mouth to yell.

Without needing to be told, John spun around and blocked the needle the Scott had poised at her neck. She swiped his feet out from under him and shoved her weight on top of him, sitting high on his chest. He managed to pull his legs up enough to shove her off before she could put all her weight down.

Sherlock appeared in her peripheral, fending off another goon as Moriarty looked on, taunting her with words John could not hear.

John heard a crunch when she landed and hissed as her lower back stung. She rolled away before the Scott could dive over her and hissed as she realized what that snap was. "You broke my bag!"

John dove for the bag and snatched it up, immediately launching for the Scott and wrapping the strap around his neck. She pulled tight and leaned back, only to have Sherlock spinning toward her, yelling, "John", just as the needle dove into her neck and the world faded to black.

"Fucking hell-" John managed to get out before she collapsed. She thought she might have punched the attacker with the needle in the face but she was too weak to believe it did much more than inconvenience them.


Norway

They both woke up on a boat headed towards Norway, all of their warmer gear confiscated, only their gun, some water, and their phones returned to them.

Sherlock somehow managed to retain enough energy destroy the room they had been locked in, leaving it a complete chaotic mess. The ship they were on was transporting stuffed animals. Though a lot of those stuffed animals now had their heads ripped off and the stuffing thrown out. The captain of the ship was surprised to see them aboard and not happy in the least, promising repercussions for his missing merchandise. Sherlock insulted him beyond repair and John could not care. She was done. She wanted her bed and a shower and tea and that was it.

When they docked, they both ran for it, getting the first plane that departed for even the general direction of Heathrow to book it home.