44.

"Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn't come here to kill me. They have to keep me alive," Sherlock said, striding into the living room. He pulled off his coat and scarf as he walked across to the laptop on the table.

Elspeth shuffled in after Sherlock and John. Her face had lost most of its colour and she flopped onto the sofa, curling her knees up to her chest, and John gave her a worried glance as he went to stand by the window.

"I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me –"

"–the others kill them before they can get it," John finished. Sherlock made a noise of agreement under his breath, typed rapidly on his laptop and brought up a list of local WiFi networks.

"All of the attention is focused on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

"So what have you got that's so important?" John asked.

Gazing into the distance, Sherlock thought for a moment. He ran his finger along the table beside the laptop before lifting it and looking at his fingertip.

"We need to ask about the dusting," he said, rising to his feet. "Mrs Hudson!" he yelled, running back downstairs.

Rolling his eyes, John looked at Elspeth. "Ellie," he said softly. She tore her eyes from the bookshelf, which she had been staring at intently for a few seconds, a small crease appearing on her forehead. "Are you alright?"

Elspeth bit down on her bottom lip, then nodded. She was lying. They both knew it, but John didn't want to upset her and Elspeth was too stubborn to say otherwise. She was exhausted, her throat was burning from being sick and seeing Moriarty had shaken her up – badly. It had been two months since she'd last seen him and she thought that things were going back to normal, or as normal as they could be in 221B.

Now he was back. He said four words to her and that was all he needed to do to send Elspeth into a panic. When John looked away from her again, she ran a hand through her hair and slowly lowered her legs. She didn't take her eyes off the bookshelf.

"Ooh Sherlock, I was asleep," Mrs Hudson was complaining when Sherlock dragged her upstairs. She tied her dressing gown as tightly as she could. "Are you alright, Ellie? You look very pale."

Elspeth gave Mrs Hudson a tight smile. "I'm fine."

"Dusting, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "Precise details, in the last week, what's been cleaned?"

"Well, Tuesday I did your lino . . ."

"No, in here, this room," Sherlock insisted, running his fingers over bits of furniture. "This is where we'll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust. Dust is eloquent."

"What's he on about?" Mrs Hudson asked John quietly. Elspeth got up from the sofa and crossed the room, still gazing at the bookcase to the right of the fireplace. She frowned.

"Cameras. We're being watched," Sherlock mumbled, standing on the coffee table and looking around. Elspeth climbed up on the small table by the bookshelf on the right of the fireplace, using the shelf to stable herself when it wriggled unsteadily beneath her feet.

"What? Cameras? Here? I'm in my nightie!" Mrs Hudson said shrilly, cringing and pulling her dressing gown tighter around herself. She hurried out of the room when the doorbell rang. John followed her.

Reaching up, Elspeth stood on her tiptoes and pushed a book further into the bookshelf when she saw it had more space around it than it should have. She shuffled forwards and ran her hand along the shelf, her fingers closing around a small camera stuck on the side of the bookshelf. Elspeth grabbed and pulled with more force than necessary, stumbling backwards with the camera in her hand.

"No need to fall at my feet, Ellie," Lestrade teased as he walked into the living room, John close behind.

"No, Inspector," Sherlock said. He helped Elspeth to her feet and she handed him the camera when their hands clasped.

"What?"

"The answer's no."

"But you haven't heard the question!" Lestrade protested.

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking," Sherlock said, walking closer to Lestrade.

"Sherlock . . ."

"The scream?"

Lestrade hesitated slightly, seriously considering lying, but he knew it would be pointless. "Yeah."

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head, that little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home –" Sherlock paused and tapped Lestrade on the forehead. "– there."

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked with a hint of exasperation in his voice. He knew the answer.

"One photograph – that's his next move," Sherlock said. He turned, walked away and sat down in front of his laptop. "Moriarty's game, first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He held up the camera again, then raised his eyes to meet Lestrade's. "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play."

John looked at Elspeth. She was still standing by the bookshelf, clenching her fists so that her hands looked like they were shaking. Silently, John willed Sherlock to look at Elspeth. If he would just look at her . . .

"Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock told Lestrade.

Sighing and exchanging a brief look with John, Lestrade left the living room. While Sherlock linked the camera into the laptop so he could bring up the footage, John took a step towards Elspeth, his mouth open to say something. He didn't know what he was going to say though.

So John turned away again, sighing.

"They'll be deciding," Sherlock said,

"Deciding?" John repeated.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

"You think?"

"Standard procedure," Sherlock muttered, looking back down at his laptop screen.

"Should have gone with him. People will think –"

"I don't care what people think," Sherlock interrupted loudly.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong," John replied.

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong."

John's temper rose, and he turned to face Sherlock. "Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're –" he broke off and Sherlock looked up at him, their eyes locking across the room. Look behind you, John thought. Look at Ellie.

"That I am what?" Sherlock asked.

"A fraud."

The answer made Sherlock roll his eyes and fall back in his seat, which wasn't the desired effect.

"You're worried they're right," he said. John frowned at him. "You're worried they're right about me."

"No."

"That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No I'm not," John said quietly. He turned away and looked out the window. Sherlock gazed at him for a few seconds, leaning forwards.

"Moriarty is playing with your mind too," Sherlock said, furiously slamming his hand against the table and making Elspeth jump. "Can't you see what's going on?"

John looked back at him. "No, I know you're for real."

"A hundred percent?"

"Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time," John told him quietly. The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched into a small smile. He didn't look at Elspeth though.


Standing in the centre of the living room, John lowered his phone and sighed. "So, still got some friends on the Force," he told Sherlock, who was sitting in his armchair. "It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs, every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people."

Sherlock didn't seem to be paying any attention. John glanced at Elspeth, who was sitting on the sofa and curled up so tightly that she looked like a little ball. She was barely moving.

"Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?" Mrs Hudson asked, apparently sensing the tension in the room when she was walked in. Sherlock rolled his eyes. She looked at John. "Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked 'Perishable' – I had to sign for it. Funny name. German, like the fairy tales."

Elspeth looked up. She saw the seal on the flap of the bag, and so did Sherlock. They both stood up and walked forwards as John opened the bag, pulling out the contents. It was a large gingerbread man.

"Burnt to a crisp," Sherlock said.

"What does it mean?"

The doorbell rang and someone pounded on the doorknocker. "Police!" a voice yelled. Mrs Hudson went to answer the door and John put the gingerbread man back into the envelope, handing it to Elspeth before following Mrs Hudson. He stood at the top of the stairs, blocking access to the flat while shouting furiously.

Calmly, Sherlock looped his scarf around his neck and pulled on his coat. Elspeth put the envelope down.

It didn't take long for the police officers to shove past John, and when they did, one of them pushed Elspeth out of the way and handcuffed Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping."

"He's not resisting," John said.

"It's alright, John," Sherlock assured him.

"He's not resisting. No, it's not all right. This is ridiculous."

"Get him downstairs now," Lestrade ordered the office who had handcuffed Sherlock. Mrs Hudson stood to the side, tearful, and John turned to protest. "Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too," Lestrade said sternly, pointing at John.

"You done?" John asked Sally, who was standing by the door and smiling smugly.

"Oh, I said it," she said. "First time we met."

Elspeth pursed her lips together. She was about to wipe that smug smirk right off Sally's face.

"Don't bother," John told her. Sally continued anyway.

"Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line. Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?" Sally asked, strolling forwards. Mrs Hudson gasped and Elspeth took a step forwards, only to stop when the Chief Superintendent walked in.

"Donovan."

"Sir," Sally said meekly.

"Got our man?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me," the Chief Superintendent said. Elspeth looked at him. "Often are, these vigilante types." He looked at Elspeth and smirked. "Oh, and he's got a kid. Brilliant. Don't be surprised if you never see your daddy again, sweetheart, he's going away for a –"

John's fist clenched, but somehow Elspeth beat him to it.


A minute or two later, the Chief Superintendent stumbled outside. Looking over his shoulder, Sherlock smirked when he saw the injuries – a bleeding nose, red cheek, split lip. That could only be Elspeth's work.

Seconds later, Elspeth was slammed against the car next to him, and John was pushed up next to her. Sherlock looked at them with an amused expression.

"Joining me?"

"Yeah, apparently it's against the law to let a teenager attack the Chief Superintendent," John said. Elspeth rolled her eyes.

"I don't know why they're arresting you. All you did was call him a few choice words."

"Apparently that's against the law as well."

An officer walked forwards, unlocking Sherlock's cuff and transferring it to John's wrist.

"Bit awkward, this," Sherlock said thoughtfully, looking over his shoulder again.

"No one to bail us," John said. Elspeth frowned.

"I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape," Sherlock replied, his eyes focusing on the radio dispatcher on the car dashboard. He looked at Elspeth. She grinned back.

Suddenly, Sherlock reached through the open window and pressed down on the Talk button, making the officer behind them double over in pain before he could cuff Elspeth as a high pitched squeal ripped through his earpiece. Sherlock grabbed the officer's pistol, raising it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" he shouted. Lestrade sighed. When one reacted very quickly, Sherlock fired the gun twice into the air. "Now would be good!" he lowered the gun, aiming it at the police.

"Do as he says!" Lestrade yelled, gesturing for everyone to get on their knees.

"Just – just so you're aware, the gun is his idea," John said loudly. I'm just a . . . you know . . ."

"My hostage," Sherlock announced, aiming the gun at John's head. Elspeth, seeing that they were slowly backing away, edged along the length of the police car.

"Hostage! Yes, that works – that works," John said quietly. "So what now?"

"Doing what Moriarty wants – I'm becoming a fugitive. Run."

Sherlock turned and raced down the road, dragging John along with him, and Elspeth ran after them. Looping the chain around his wrist, Sherlock held his hand out.

"Take my hand," he ordered, and John made a remark about people talking as he did so. Hearing sirens approach the junction in front of them, Sherlock swerved to the left, grabbing Elspeth's hand and pulling her around with them.

"The gun!" John cried, noticing the pistol had fallen to the ground. Elspeth took a step towards it, as if to run out and grab it, but Sherlock grabbed her hand again.

"Leave it."

Sherlock shoved Elspeth down the alley before running after her, still dragging John with him. High railings blocked their way. Elspeth leaped on top of a dustbin and clambered straight over the top, and Sherlock didn't hesitate to do the same, landing with slightly more grace than his daughter. John, who was too short and not as close to the dustbin as they had been, almost ran straight into the railings, his right hand forced upwards.

"Sherlock, wait," he hissed, grabbing hold of Sherlock's coat. "We're going to need to coordinate."

"Go to your right," Sherlock ordered, quickly scanning the railings above them.

"Huh?"

"Go to your right!" he repeated impatiently. After several minutes of John and Sherlock hissing instructions at each other, John finally joined Sherlock and Elspeth on the other side of the fence.

"Hey, I have a hairclip!" Elspeth said suddenly, holding the clip up and grinning widely like she had made a great discovery. Sherlock gave her a sour look.

"And you only thought to mention it?"

"We're running from the police, I'm sorry if I don't give you a detailed account of everything," Elspeth snapped back, taking hold of Sherlock and John's cuffed wrist. "You're welcome," she said with a smug smile when the handcuff was unlocked. Rubbing his sore wrist, John thanked her.

"We don't have time for this," Sherlock said. "Come on." He took off running down the alley again, giving John and Elspeth no choice other than to follow him. Reaching another junction, Sherlock turned right, but immediately skidded to a halt and ducked back into the alley when a police car raced past the end of the alley. John leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Everybody wants to believe it – that's what makes it so clever," Sherlock said, looking at John. "A lie that's preferable to the truth." He looked away again, his voice turning bitter. "All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man."

"What about Mycroft?" John asked. "He could help us."

"This is hardly the time for a family reconciliation," Elspeth said with a wry grin. Though she would deny it profusely if someone asked, she couldn't help but enjoy the experience. After weeks, months even, of sitting on the sofa and sketching, letting her nightmares consume her, running felt good.

Sherlock looked at her. She grinned back at him.

"Sherlock," John said softly, tugging on the sleeve of Sherlock's coat. "We're being followed. I knew we couldn't outrun the police."

Elspeth caught a glimpse of the face at the end of the alley before it disappeared around the corner. "That's not the police," she said.

"It's one of my new neighbours from Baker Street. Let's see if he can give us some answers," Sherlock said, then ran in the opposite direction of the man at the end of the alley. Running to the next corner, the three flattened themselves against the wall. Sherlock looked around the corner.

There was no sign of the police. A double decker bus was approaching. Sherlock pressed himself against the wall again, grabbed Elspeth's hand and looked down at her.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her.

"Yeah," Elspeth said without a moment's hesitation. "Why?"

"Because we're going to jump in front of that bus."

And before John or Elspeth could protest, Sherlock ran out into the road, dragging Elspeth with him. The bus driver honked the horn at them. The lights flashed. Elspeth stared at the approaching vehicle in horror –

"Oof!" She landed heavily on her side suddenly, something heavy crushing her against the pavement. A second later, the weight was ripped off her and she realised it was the man who had been following them. Sherlock pointed the assassin's gun at him.

"Tell me what you want from me," Sherlock ordered. The assassin didn't speak. "Tell me."

"He left it at your flat," the assassin blurted out. John raced across the road when it was clear, helping Elspeth to her feet and checking she was alright.

"Who?"

"Moriarty."

"What?"

"The computer keycode."

"Of course. He's selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around," Sherlock said, and the moment he finished his sentence, three gunshots rang out into the silent night. Grabbing Elspeth before she could see the blood and the assassin fall to the ground, Sherlock pulled her down the street as he raced off. John chased after them.

"In here," John said, shoving them all into an open doorway as another police car drove past the end of the road. Elspeth shut her eyes and leaned her head against Sherlock's chest. He put an arm around her shoulders.

"It's a game-changer. It's a key – it can break into any system and it's sitting in our flat right now. That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. "Get Sherlock." We need to get back into the flat and search."

"CID'll be camped out. Why plant it on you?" John asked.

"It's another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I'm best pals with all those criminals," Sherlock said, running his hand up and down Elspeth's arm when she started to shake. Spotting a pile of newspapers nearby, John picked up the top copy and showed it to Sherlock.

"Have you seen this?" It was the same edition of Kitty Riley's article John had seen in Mycroft's office. "A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook. Who is he?"

Sherlock's hand stopped. Elspeth looked up at him.

Sherlock knew who Rich Brook was. He knew exactly who Rich Brook was.


Thank you GeorgyannWayson, xxxMadameMysteryxxx, Starcrier, Goodbye Mr Holmes, Bookworm45669, tardislover1, Ms Moonshoes Potter, Adrillian1497, CloudlessSummerSkies, Tayla, LeoInuyuka, ElisePotterFreak, ElizabethCullen08, nakari ash, Anodienthefair and Aimee for reviewing!

I read that series 4 was coming out at Christmas but then I read Mark Gatiss confirming it wouldn't come back until 2016 (and that Benedict Cumberbatch was sexy, but we all knew that anyway.) hopefully this will be done way before Christmas, so I think I'll still go ahead and have a go at writing my own season 4 . . . the prospect is rather terrifying.