Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: A Statue in the Temple of Mendacity. Part two
Summary: John is safe and sound with Sherlock. What happens if he isn't? What if things don't go as planned, and of course, they never do.

Character/Relationships: John and Molly would never have noticed each other if he were not dead. The thing is, Molly knows he isn't and she never expected things to get this complicated. Welcome back to Part two, If you thought the first part was complicated, well you are in for a bit more. Please keep your hands inside the compartment at all times.

I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


The cab ride was quiet. The driver drove with such exaggerated care that he seemed like an old woman. John spoke in hushed tones of how he met Sherlock and what they did. He was pretty sure he wasn't conveying any new information but his friend listened intently. John spoke of Sherlock's personality and how until a few hours ago, he thought he'd died for him. He admitted that he'd somehow fallen in love with the man. He told him briefly of Molly and in general what a complete shambles his life had turned into.

He seemed to be discarding a lot of the tinsel and getting to the stickier bits of tree he'd avoided for so long. If he could have spoken this frankly to his therapist, the woman may have had a chance to help him. With Rat, there are no trust issues involved. He had trusted Rat with his life on countless occasions. John's heart may have been a little beaten up from time to time by the man, but in every other way, there was a bond between the two men that served to overthrow any fear John would have in opening up to Rat about things he could not manage to say to other people.

John stated events in the style of a debriefing and was careful to provide an honest analytical analysis of his experiences and state of mind, expecting no judgment or advice and receiving exactly what he anticipated. Rat never took his eyes off John, mumbling an encouraging something in his throat from time to time or nodding.

John described Sherlock, "He was a lot like you really, more brilliant, no offence, but that is probably why he and I hit it off so quickly. I never considered the similarities of him and me vs. you and I and I probably should have. Frankly, I think he was a lifeline and his need to be taken care of led me to misunderstand the dynamics of the friendship. I think that it was a one-sided fiasco."

The Rat raises his eyebrow in mild surprise as if to ask John if he's trying to downplay his story.

John looks down at his clasp hands. He meets the other man's eyes for a second, then looked out the window as he continueed, "He proved what he thinks of me, twice now, so your problem, no matter what the hell it is, came at a very opportune moment. I don't have anything here. It was all in my mind. I made a wrong turn with Sherlock somewhere and even what I found with Molly…well, it wasn't real, not all the way. I could carry on and fix that if I wanted, but I have issues and she would really be better off…without me. It would take a miracle for me to really trust her again, enough to move forward. Probably a gift to her if I leave it behind. I'm fine with what you're asking of me. There isn't much here for me. I know now that there never was. I don't belong here." On that last point, John was not as truthful as he should have been, but he was already determined to follow through on his word to Rat.

Deep cover meant leaving all he knew behind. It meant never again being John Watson. He would never again speak of this life. The Rat had told him once that making this choice had been very hard for him, but of course Rat had never detailed exactly why. John didn't feel it was difficult at all. He would feel guilty for not keeping his promise to Molly, but right now, whatever had brought this man to London, meant keeping a much older and weightier promise. It didn't matter what it was, John would never let this man down. He owed him his life and after all, Molly had lied. He would get word to her that mourning was not necessary, and she would move on. He imagined the relationship with Molly could have probably worked out in time, but Ford 'The Rat' Hall, had asked John for his help.

John knew he wasn't a jumper-wearing broken charity case in Rat's eyes. He was skilled and still vital to Rat or he wouldn't be here. It felt good to be himself and feel the rush of war again. There was no need for Rat to have concern that John Watson felt this was a sacrifice.

"You speak of him in past tense, like he's still dead."

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, right this minute. He may as well be, to me. I would have done anything, and I do mean anything to…just love him. Any terms would have been fine. Whatever he wanted. I might have even worn one of those stupid labels people like to throw around…for him. They were already making assumptions. Even the newspaper called me a confirmed bachelor."

"Too bad your Three-Continents persona had yet to be … jumped on," Rat said with his traditional pause for the double-entendre punch word.

John smirked, but let his friend's meaning go with a shake of the head and a good natured snort. He continued, " He basically told me I am useless and would just get in the way. It wouldn't be long before that would have eaten me up. Hours possibly." He sneered and shrugged as if what was at stake here was almost a favor to John.

"Does he know who you are?"

John takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Most things I didn't have to tell him. Jesus, he could tell if I'd had a wank in the shower, but some things, he just never quite put together. I didn't talk about it. It is fatally ingrained to not talk about it to civilians. I would never talk about it to anyone but a brother. You know me better, Rat. "

"Of course, I wasn't questioning your discretion. He does have access to sensitive material, if my sources are reliable. " Rat inquires.

John paused, studying Rat for a second, curious about his sources on his former flat-mate. It was flattering that he seemed so well informed on John's life. John hadn't heard from him but once since he had been shot. He had no idea Rat had paid any attention after all this time. They had parted on ambiguous terms. Part of John's deep depression upon returning to London had occurred because it was more than a medical discharge in John's mind. He'd felt like he'd lost his family. He felt like he'd survived some terrible catastrophe in which everyone he cared about had perished, leaving him alone and trying to navigate in a world that no longer felt real to John.

People looked right past John here. They took him at face value and nobody suspected that the short, limping doctor might be the sort of man who could walk into hell with a smile and walk out with an army of the devil's minions following him. John had always had a way with people and his specialties were mediation, infiltration, conversion and wet work. Saving lives was always his preference, but John found the Hippocratic Oath did not interfere with his oath to queen and country. He never murdered a good guy and that meant he was preventing the loss of life by treating the disease rather than the symptoms. Sometimes, the cancer could be cut out to prevent its spread. The same was true of people and John had no problem with killing anyone whose existence was a cancer upon the world.

He nodded in agreement as he continued, " Sherlock was brilliant. So I have no idea what he did know or didn't. He trusted me more the night I met him than he did when he jumped off that bloody roof. His brother had my public records, but he never said a word to me if he knew more. I think he could have gotten the clearance, if he'd known to look. He seemed to know about everything else going on. But Sherlock's brother, well, he put a lot of trust in me…but I think it was because he didn't intimidate me…much. I thought a lot of him at one time. I can't say I trusted him, not after he sold Sherlock out. He didn't know at the time. But, it changed how I …I don't know, he's not particularly likable, but I had come to respect him. I doubt that can ever be fixed, and all this time, he watched me suffer. He could have kidnapped me and stopped all of this…it's a letdown when someone has your trust and…just blows you off. They both did that." John cleared his throat, careful to keep the sound of accusation toward Ford out of his tone, "Sherlock was the one person who I… of all the people. Even after he died, I trusted him." John shakes his head in confusion and looks into Rat's eyes. "I don't know when or why he stopped trusting me. But none of that matters anymore. Now, your turn. What has Tiger done this time?"

"Well, we have a whole lot of ground to cover there and we are almost to Baker Street. The down and dirty version is he's under private contract. He drifted for a while after all that stupid business. He was the best I ever trained. Better than you, in fact." Ford lifted his chin, not making light of John, simply stating a truth.

"No argument, Rat. He was a God. What they did to him, it was unforgivable," John said with disgust.

"The system, Rhino. Could have been any one of us."

"I watched it happen to him and then I came here and watched the same sort of thing happen to Sherlock. It makes me wonder why anyone bothers," John replies.

"We each have to find our own motive."

John gestured with his hand that he knew this lecture, as he spoke, "I know. Please tell me we can at least try to talk to Tiger. You said he's not on our side. I would rather take a bullet myself then have to take him out, Rat. He's still our brother."

Rat sighs and leans forward, "If you feel that way, just go on home, Rhino. See, I have talked to him. I thought he was our brother, but he proved he wasn't. He's under contract for a hit and when I found out who he was working for, I tried. Here's the thing. He was working for someone who you might recognize. He is in command of a rather extensive network of criminals. The organization is bleeding out and Tiger is getting somewhat wobbly in his management. Not unlike you, John, he floundered and someone tossed him a lifeline. I believe Tiger's former, now deceased, boss and friend referred to himself as a 'consulting criminal' from what I was told. Ring any bells?"

John's face blanches and the wind is sucked from his lungs. "Tiger was working for…Moriatry? God no. Oh my God. He was…sent to kill me?"

"Ding, ding, ding, you have correctly clipped the blue wire and diffused my first bomb." Rat sits back and chuckles.

"But that is who Sherlock is trying to find." John responded with an edge of panic creeping into his voice.

"One of them. He's found a fair number of those he has sought. It has been quite effective in creating chaos within this group. Sherlock isn't the only reason Moriarty's associates have found the transition to new leadership to be less than charming. But he has taken out some vital areas. Now Sherlock seeks Sebastian Moran. And Tiger by the tail is…"

"Guaranteed to fail," John automatically finishes the vaunting old joke Tiger had always said before contact. It wasn't particularly funny, due to the fact it was somewhat true. John realized he was now on the wrong side of his former brother and his former best-friend was also planning to confront Tiger, which made the joke clang with the tone of a bell on a sunken ship. "Oh God. Sherlock's going to get himself killed. He has no chance against him. He has no idea what Tiger can do. None at all." John leans forward, defeated and his abdominal muscles randomly quake in trepidation for Sherlock.

Sherlock is smart and lucky, but Tiger is hard, calm and the most singularly accurate shot in all contact situations ever presented. If Sherlock engages Tiger, Sherlock's life is simply on the count-down. John can't help but imagine Sherlock's head in Tiger's Trijicon Sniper Scope. John was familiar with Tiger's equipment having spotted for him regularly. The image made his gorge rise.

Just when John thinks he's out of Sherlock's FUBAR life, Rat is set to drag him into it again through a back door. John fights this emotional upheaval. He is evidently going off to save Sherlock, with or without Sherlock's consent or knowledge. He has to fight a brother in order to do that. It means there are terrible choices to be made and unfortunately any success or failure will have a very high price. John wonders why he isn't dead, because if Tiger had meant for John to be terminated, he knew that there was little chance he would still be breathing. John chuckled to himself, thinking of how he'd mourned a man who wasn't dead until he'd nearly volunteered to end Tiger's contract for him. John had undoubtedly cleaned the weapon and looked through the scope that was turned on him the day Sherlock jumped off St. Bart's.

For a strange moment, John imagined himself standing next to Tiger watching himself lined up for terminal contact. He wondered if Tiger would have whispered any regret or any kind of apology before pulling the trigger and watching his former spotter's head explode like a water balloon of red mist. John didn't actually hate the idea as much as he should have. If he had to die, at least he knew it wouldn't be a botched job. Seb was the best. John would have never felt a thing. Tiger prided himself on his quirky signature style. Most snipers prided themselves on killing with a single shot. Seb usually took two. Both were instant kill shots, but he had a signature.

Head. Heart.

Tiger would never pretermit a target to show off, but he was a patient man and he had an uncanny ability to hit a man and spin him with the impact so that he could take his redundant second shot before the body hit the ground. Killing had long ago lost the challenge. That second signature shot, was what kept the job entertaining for Seb.

John had liked the fact that what he truly offered was a pain free unknown death. The subject didn't crumble to the pavement in agony, knowing he was about to die. They literally were going about their business one moment and in the second and a half it took for their body to fall, they had stopped consciousness before they tumbled. John had examined Tiger's work and called it art. It may have left an unpleasant corpse for the family to deal with, but for the target, it was a gift. John knew a lot about unpleasant death. He wouldn't have minded death at the hand of such an artist and Tiger would have given John his very best effort.

The feeling of calm acceptance does not extend the forgiveness for Tiger to make art of Sherlock. If Sherlock were to be found with Seb's signature, God or not, John would win. Nothing would ever protect him because John rarely felt the need for wrath, but Sherlock had already proven that he could draw that emotion from John. John was back on the job. John would find some way to protect his idiot-boffin.

"Yes, the dimwitted fool thinks he can out think God and he's playing with matches in an ordnance bunker. Smart rarely meets wise."

"We have to stop him. Rat, we have to…I can't explain…but Sherlock is—"

"Not as far from you mind or your heart as you claim, John. I hoped you still cared enough to help me intervene on his behalf. I did think you would be a bit more of a recruitment challenge considering what it meant. I had all sorts of grand words to talk you into this adventure. Perhaps you missed me more than you care to admit as well."

"You are a bloody prat, and I'd have to be mad to miss you. So get on with it, you and your superior grin have more you want to say. Go on then, no need to relish it. Spit it out."

Rat smiles like a cat with a mouse soufflé on Wedgewood china. "And now for the next little bomb. Of course we are going to save that idiot. Won't be the first time I have stepped in to help him, not that he knows about it, but it seems he is a trouble magnet. Care to guess why I would be interested in Sherlock Holmes? Interested enough to come to London? You know my rule. Why now, after so many years away?"

John tilts his head and looks confused. "I don't understand. You're here for Sherlock? I thought…never mind. What are you saying? You came to London, because of Sherlock Holmes?"

"And you, but yes. Look at me, John. Really look."

John looked at him shaking his head. "I don't see what you mean."

"You see, but you do not observe. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Before I became Ford Hall, the Giant Rat of Sumatra, I had another name, another life. I had to leave that life and my two young sons. I couldn't protect them from the things I had become involved with. So I did what I had to do, to protect the people I cared about. "

John looked up. The hints were all there and John knew he should be making a connection, but something was misfiring in his mind. "You…had children?" he asked, finding the idea almost comical. He couldn't imagine Ford Hall in a normal, mundane life, running to the market to pick up…milk. "No." John can hear his heart pounding as if he's revving up for a firefight.

Rat was trying ineffectually to hide his merriment, his lips kept twisting and his eyes sparkled at his delight in John's prolonged discomposure." I was Sir Sherrinford Hallcroft Malcolm Sherlock Holmes, KBE. You still address me as Commander. It wasn't a rank, John. It was a sentiment. Nobody calls me Major Hall, " he laughed at John's blank face and his mouth hanging open, "Imagine my surprise when I saw that the two of you had formed an…acquaintance?"

"Bollocks. No. Please, God no. Ford Hall. Of course. Perfect. That is absolutely…my disaster of a life in triplicate. Dot the tees and cross the eyes I am…Going to throw up now," John said, actually turning slightly green.

The Rat roared with laughter, earning a watchful glance from the driver who happened to pull into Baker Street and stop the cab just at this time. John bailed out and while the cab fare was settled, John made use of the rainy sidewalk, decorating it with the tarry contents of his stomach. His former commander and father of his former flat-mate was still laughing as he slapped John on the back and told him he must have developed a weak stomach for good coffee.

When recovered, John opened the door to 221b and his friend hesitated. Rather than walking in he pulled his phone from his pocket and seemed to send a text. "Problem?" John asked.

"My elder son and his little toys. Jamming them. That should take care of it." He smiled and stepped inside.

"You can do that? That isn't a mobile phone, is it?" John said peeking at the device upside down.

He made a throaty sound, "It does that too. That's just one of its many fine features. Lots of wizards in the international game, Rhino. No limit to what you can buy, if you know who to speak to. This, developed by a kid in Norway. Sixteen years old and has to set his appointments for meetings with the world's masterminds around his cross-country ski practice and his school activity schedule. I was there in June and his parents invited all his new friends to dinner. Sat down for a lovely salmon with a drug dealer from Mexico, a GSG9 agent and a pirate Captain from Somalia. I think if we could get this kid to have a party, NATO could take lessons. Pleasant bunch of people, Norwegians."

"I am flabbergasted to know that, considering what we just discovered. About two people I have had rather close personal relationships with…being related. But, we are discussing, the attributes of Norway? I hear the weather there is very nice for like ten days a year. By all means, Sir Sherrinford Holmes, do tell me more. My nightmares were getting pretty dull. Don't you want to liven them up with any more abominable tidbits? You seem in particularly emetic form this evening. "John said in a low tone, he stomped up the stairs, unlocked the door to his flat and waved Rat in.

"He put Angry Birds on it for me too," Rat went on as if John hadn't spoken. " I like that game. I keep in touch with the boy on World of Warcraft. And you just discovered it, I have known of your interesting association for some time. Were you lovers, you and my son?" Rat asked the last part in the same bored tone he'd discussed Angry Birds.

"What? No. I was serial-dating women, after you. You know what I can be like. I thought it was headed there, but he … no. I don't actually date men, you know. You and I…just never mind, I am not discussing this. No, we were defiantly not lovers, thank you."

"I see. So it wouldn't be an impropriety if I were to kiss you. After you brush your teeth, of course." His eyes looked John up and down lustily.

"Jesus, don't you dare start this again."

Rat blinks and looks slightly offended. "Why the hell not? I've missed you."

"No, because it always starts out nice, then it ends with me alone, and you …disappearing. Last time was not good. I nearly died."

"You may die tonight if this shite doesn't all go well. And I didn't leave you. You went out and got yourself shot."

"Yeah. That's true. All my fault there. Thanks for all the cards and well wishes, by the way."

Rat looks at him as if John has lost his mind. "Know what happened to the guy who shot you?"

"Don't even know who it was, Rat." John said, wrinkling his forehead.

There is that cat-like smile again, eyes squinting in mirth, voice a smooth purr, so much like Sherlock it makes John feel lightheaded. "I sent you a wallet."

"Six months later. Yeah, you did. No card, just a wallet. Still have it." John pulls it out of his pocket. "Very nice. Thank you. Water repellant and everything"

"You didn't pay attention. What kind of leather is it?"

John looks at it and his face goes dark. His eyes glassed over as he looked at his friend and realized what he was saying. "There it is, more nightmares," John said as his eyes roll upward, leaving only the whites visible.

"Tanned it myself. Stinky business…tanning." The smile grows sinister, "That reminds me, where is Mr. Fellows? Always pay my respects." Ford gestured to the mantle.

"You mean the skull? You know who he is? He has a name? Sherlock appropriated him. Took that with him. Left me behind. I was just filling in for…Mr. Fellows? Wait, how would you know where it sat? Jesus, you have been here. You have been in this flat?" John flops in his chair, unable to process any more fun Holmes-trivia whilst standing.

"Oh. Yes. Several times in fact. Should be obvious I think. I did just scramble all your security cameras. I couldn't have cracked their frequency codes that quickly otherwise, now could I? Sorry. Pity that, about Fellows I mean. I was hoping to speak with him."

"Yes. Tragic. I personally blubbered like a baby at his departure," John said, deadpanning his sarcasm.

Rat steps toward the mantle and swipes his finger at the spot the skull had occupied. "Missed him by a few hours. You should dust on occasion, John. Your sinuses would appreciate the effort. Mr. Fellows was one of my first kills. Very nice man. He was a traitor, of course. But, he was a nice traitor. Brought him home to Sherlock when he was just a little bit of a scamp. His mother scolded me, but Sherlock loved him right away. Insisted he stay in his room. Mycroft was afraid of the thing, but not Sherlock. He always did take after me. Mummy dear ruined Mycroft, but Sherlock, he was something special. Still is. As you seem to have … discovered?" he turns to John, and his left eyebrow rose to punctuate the last word.

John was sitting in his chair, his head propped on his fist. His eyes dart around the flat and back to his guest.

" Of course I have been here. But my son's little toys are apparently not as secure as he believes them to be, so I have been checking in on you from time to time. Long distance. Anyway, you need to finish your note while I arrange your suicide, my boy. Snap to it, we don't have all night." He says texting rapidly as he paced.

John returned a few minutes later with the note in his hand. Rat has disappeared, but before John has had time to process all the bad things an unattended Rat might cause, he reappears in the sitting room and takes a seat in Sherlock's chair. His cloths are freshly pressed and dry, having hung in Sherlock's closet for the last year.

John does a double take. "It's official. Weirdest day of my life."

"You should get busy writing and stop wasting time admiring my arse. Three hours and I have no intention of spending it growing puckered when there are perfectly suitable dry garments in you little shrine back there. He was never dead and I have not blasphemed his sacred belongings. You should change too. You'll end up catching your death. May as well be comfortable." Rat stated as he continued to type on his phone-like object.

John doesn't say a word. He gets up, goes upstairs and changes his clothes. He returns to his chair and props the note on a book and tries to figure out what else he can say. He can't think as Ford moves around the kitchen, not needing to ask where the cups are or where he keeps the tea. John reminds himself, he has been here before.

"So, when you visited before? Was that before or after Sherlock…didn't die?" John manages to sound calm but he keeps touching his mouth in irritation.

"Both." Rat answers, setting one cup of tea beside John and blowing on his own cup before sipping it.

"But you didn't think to say hello. Not even after?" John picks up the cup and holds it close to his lips, waiting for an answer.

"I did say hello once, after. Perhaps you don't remember. I had never seen you so…affected by drinking. I brought you home. Saw to your wounds. It was only four of them, just kids really. I didn't permanently injure them. I didn't return after that." He said calmly but wouldn't meet John's eyes. His index finger circled the rim of the cup. He held the cup in his other hand, palm on the bottom, thumb through the handle.

"I would have liked your company."

"I don't think so, John," he said quietly. Ford blinked several times, set the cup aside and pulled John's computer into his lap.

John contemplated what he meant by that statement but gave up trying to guess. Ford would tell him when he wanted him to know. John settled down and quickly finished his task.

I am sorry to anyone who is hurt, but I have made this choice because as a physician, I know the early signs of a mind losing its battle for sanity. I have to face that the odds of winning this fight are slim and I can't allow myself to take chances that the honored profession of Psychiatric Medicine has any hope of securing any useful future for me. I am too dangerous to allow myself to harm someone I care for, so with this apparent prospect looming, I know I am making the right choice. If I were to stand in front of a bullet for any one of you, I would be a hero. I am doing that. I know how to prevent the bullet from ever being fired. Just know, I am happy and I don't do this out of any wish to cause sorrow.

Molly, I know you will probably take this hard. You made me happy, and I will carry my memories of you with me for all time. I hope you move on quickly and shine that brilliant light of yours on someone who deserves it.

Sherlock Holmes, I'm coming for you. Call me your guardian angel, you arrogant sod.

Why is love like a Rhino?

Its short sighted, thick skinned, ready to charge and woe be to the fool who gets in its way.

All my love,

Captain John 'Rhino' Hamish Watson, SMO, RAMC , 5th Northumberland Fusiliers

John finishes his note and hands it to Ford. He goes to make fresh tea while The Rat reads it for approval.

"You ended your suicide note…with a joke?"

"Sure. You always say, leave them laughing. And the suicide is a joke, hopefully, if my decrepit old wanker of a commanding officer doesn't muck it up too much, so why not," John said with a shrug and a grin that indicated he is resigned to this plan and now he's just going to go into his classic approach of soldier-on-a-lark mode.

"I have missed you. You always made me laugh, you fun-sized prat."

"Short jokes? I am doing this, why, again? Now, to the surviving part. Any actual plans for that or should I just order a bouquet?"

"Your faith in me is warming my heart. You were dive-certified, right?"

"Of course. But that was years ago. Not sure I will make it believable if I am wearing a wet suit and tanks," John replied, brows furrowed in confused skepticism.

"Not exactly. There is a tow rope. The tanks will be on that. Now, what happens in dear old London when a jumper ends his sorrows?"

John shrugged, and said, "People search for them, try to save them?"

"Yes, but they only search down-current. Here's how this will work…"


If you have forgiven me for the' why' John jumped in the Thames and upset everyone, you may feel free to review. If you haven't forgiven me, you may still feel free to review. Thank you all for your lovely comments. Sorry it's taking a bit for me to update. I have a new job. I scare people for a living and I seem to be quite good at it. The Manor has a 'Tinkle-Tally' and it has already reached 32. Keep that in mind should you be so inclined as to visit a haunted house this season…we are watching to see if you wet your pants. (or worse)