Chapter 15

The Hound

Sherlock Holmes did not understand what he was doing incorrectly. Day in and day out his mind was occupied with the latest Professor crimes among other cases. He scoured every crime scene, particularly when it came to this Professor, and ended up with next to nothing each time. The case was not going well. The criminal wasn't leaving clues and Sherlock was stumped.

He did not approve of being outsmarted. There was only one other man who'd come close to stumping him with his various crimes and games. He didn't like that man one bit. That man forced him to jump off a rooftop and leave John alone for half a year. It left their relationship rocky and unpredictable. That man hurt John, badly. That man somehow convinced John to spend several nights a week with him, nearly every week, for the last two months.

No, Sherlock was not happy. There was no way his friend was safe in the company of that man. He also knew it was more than chatting the two of them were doing and it did not sit well with him. John was his. Where did Moriarty get off deciding he could have John on what was likely a whim?

Sherlock winced. Bad choice of wording. He strongly suspected he may be spending time with the man to avoid him at the flat. John became irritated with him exceptionally quick of late. He didn't trust him completely yet. Sherlock could see it in the manner he sometimes brewed his tea, the way he made sure not to look at his flatmate even once while reading the paper, or how often he responded briefly and hesitantly to something said to him.

Perhaps it was partly his fault, the wall building up between them ever since John's NSA and MI6 work was discovered and halted. John knew he wasn't being fully honest. Sherlock was keeping a secret, sure. He'd been working with Mycroft since the day John ended up in hospital from two gunshot wounds to the stomach. He was trying to get to the bottom of who put a hit out on his friend. Extremely frustrating for him, no answers were uncovered in that investigation either. The sole lead, the drugged up informant, had ended up back on the street and dead of an overdose.

Nothing was going his way. John was keeping him at a distance, he was solving all of his cases except for the main one involving the Professor that he couldn't get a handle on, and he didn't know where to go with John's case. Now his flatmate was spending his free time with Moriarty or the female friend Sherlock had never met. He went with Sherlock on a case occasionally, listened to him play his music by the window or have his admittedly childish tantrums. But he wasn't fully John. He had too many distractions to spend most of his time with Sherlock like he used to do.

So when John came through the front door at nearly three in the morning, excited and decidedly looking for him, his heart thudded rapidly in his chest. He paused composing a new tune, centering around his grief for the division growing between him and his flatmate, to provide ample attention to him. He wanted to make certain John understood he was trying, that he cared.

John let spill past his lips an explanation of a dream he had that night. He believed he met the Professor criminal a year ago and there was a slim possibility he would be able to identify him if the police came up with suspects. Sherlock listened to everything, noting all the ways there were issues with his story and identification wouldn't mean much without the addition of factual evidence. The average ability for accurate recall was extremely low as well. He observed these things but when John finished, waiting to see what Sherlock said in response, he wisely chose to say none of that. Instead he asked John to describe what he could remember about the man's appearance and wrote the description on paper. He reveled in the eager to help look on John's face and the pair spent the rest of the morning discussing aspects of the Professor case.

/

He met Mary two days later for lunch. The renewed vigor he and Sherlock experienced for the Professor case led nowhere. The criminal seemed to surface at random to initiate violent or cruel acts. The man was sick in the head, no doubt about it. He was someone who liked to experiment with people, forcing them into situations where they had to make a difficult choice. Harry finally came clean and told him the whole story of what happened to her. The man offered a choice. She could ingest as much alcohol as she could take, or Clara would.

Mary had been able to detect the tension in his voice when he called to see how she was doing. She'd invited him out to lunch on her work break and he came gladly. He needed the respite from mulling over thoughts of the psychopath who dared to harm his sister. At least Harry survived her encounter with the killer. At the cost of a shortened life span, but still with her life. The young college student turned victim a month before her was not as fortunate.

The college student was locked in a room with her little sister. They were instructed there was food and water for one person to survive the length of time they would be locked up. Should they share, the duration of imprisonment would extend so neither could survive. The offered choice was deciding who would go without food or water. Eight agonizing days went by until the college student was dead and the ten-year-old girl was recovered, alone and forever traumatized. There was no sign of the Professor. There never was.

This lunch was nothing to do with criminals, however, and that was rather the point. He enjoyed spending time with Mary and cared for her. She made him laugh, smile, and feel like he was the most important person in the room wherever they were. She was his saving grace when he was having a bad day. In this moment, laughter filling the comfy atmosphere of the small pub, there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

Okay, so wrapped in Sherlock's arms would be nice. Ever since he had the revelation about how he felt more for his flatmate than how close friends should feel, John watched the other and saw what he expected to see. His flatmate remained the same.

Whatever he thought he wanted, whatever he thought he felt, was never going to matter. Sherlock was asexual, preferred his own company over anyone else, and occupied nearly all of his time working cases and polishing his detection skills. A romantic relationship with a former army doctor and current part-time doctor and sleuth hardly seemed possible. Besides, John hadn't known he could swing the other way until Moriarty came along and opened his eyes to such an experience. The chance Sherlock ever would? Yeah, he wasn't holding his breath.

"Gladstone does miss you so."

Mary's bulldog. The missing puppy he helped her search for and found on his way to visiting Professor Kingston. When Sherlock was gone, when he first met the gorgeous woman. Gladstone was a handsome dog, but awfully stupid sometimes. He did love the furry little creature anyhow.

"I should come by sometime soon to visit him."

She smiled. "You can come visit me, too."

John noticed her hand on his arm and she was leaning in, obvious signs of flirtation. He thought about Sherlock, then he thought about Jim, then he let her keep on but didn't return the flirting. Sherlock and him might have zero chance of happening, but he did like his time with Moriarty. Was it even possible for the criminal mastermind to feel anything real for him? He didn't seem a sociopath, but as the man said before, John wasn't the kind of doctor to make psychological classifications. Again he asked himself what the hell he was doing.

He smiled warmly, pulling his arm away in the same motion and using attention to his drink as an excuse for the parting shift. Her face fell slightly and he felt bad. John went ahead and extended the invitation he'd been considering. He couldn't stand seeing her the slightest bit unhappy because of him.

"Listen, Mary," She hung on his every word and he had to reconsider her briefly. "Tomorrow night there's a masquerade ball. It's a special event an acquaintance of mine requested I attend. Would you be my date?"

He winced at his choice of words. He didn't want to mislead Mary. Truly, he did care for her. Did he love her? John avoided answering that every time the question crossed his mind because he didn't know. He'd gone from having no real significant other in his life to having three very different people he cared deeply for. Shit, yup, he just admitted in his own mind that he cared for a dangerous criminal.

From the look Mary was giving him, she seemed to be wondering whether he cared for her the way she cared for him. He didn't know quite where he stood at the moment so he felt it best to not hint either way. He set his tea down and folded his hands on top of the table.

"This acquaintance of mine sometimes helps me out when I'm working a case without Sherlock. She told me about this party and said I might get answers to a case I worked and gave up on a while ago."

"I thought you didn't work alone anymore. Sherlock's back and the NSA and MI6 let you go."

That was true. But this was a case involving people possibly working around or even with Lestrade. It was a case he could no longer leave alone if something could conceivably come of it.

"I don't usually. This case is too important to ignore." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "It could very well mean corrupt members of the police. I thought Moriarty might have had a policeman working for him when, well, when I thought Sherlock..jumped. Now my source is telling me I was getting close to something suspect, and it had nothing to do with a certain consulting criminal."

Mary appeared suitably horrified, placing a hand to her chest. "Oh my God. Is it safe for you to be investigating?"

"As safe as it can be when it comes to corrupt cops. The masquerade ball is being organized by law enforcement. This is my chance to meet with my informant and scope out some of the police officers. Would you do me the honor?"

Her widening smile told him what her answer would be. Good. He could use the companionship. Although the ball was primarily to investigate while Sherlock was busy moping about the apartment over the Professor case, a night out with Mary would be fun. Yeah, it would be an entertaining night for gathering information and enjoying a night out of the flat with a beautiful woman.

/

John well and truly thought he'd covered all his bases. He was dressed up in a nice suit and tie, black mask stuffed inside his jacket, in the process of ushering Mary out of the flat. It was the night of the masquerade ball. He forgot the fact his flatmate was Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"You've been corresponding with the woman."

For a moment he wasn't sure he heard Sherlock right. The man came out of the kitchen like he'd been lurking, waiting for John to leave his bedroom. He played dumb, staring with confusion. Sherlock was not fooled and restated.

"The Woman. The Woman. She's left messages on your blog under the initials TW. The one you no longer update. You seem to be checking your text messages though."

Sherlock held up his mobile phone. No, wait, it was his mobile. He grabbed for it but the other man pulled it out of his reach, using their height difference to his advantage.

"Sherlock, give it to me!"

"What do you think you're doing, John?"

"It's none of your concern."

"John? Is everything alright?"

Mary stepped back inside the apartment from the hall when he hadn't followed. Mary, looking breath-taking in a long, form-fitting green gown. Her gold mask in hand, she stared expectantly. Another moment and her gaze shifted to Sherlock, who was brushing past John to stand beside her at the doorway.

"Everything's fine. I don't believe we've been properly introduced. You must be the rarely spoken about friend of John's, Mary Morstan. A pleasure to finally meet you. The name's Sherlock Holmes. I'm John's flatmate and partner. John and I were discussing the particulars of breaching a plus one invitation."

"What?" she asked, appropriately confused.

Sherlock didn't share in her confusion or acknowledge John's indignant stare.

"Well, you see, I'll be attending the ball with you. Shall we?"

Without waiting for a response, he swept from the flat. How did he manage to sweep out of a room so elegantly? The actual words said registered in the next second. Wait, he was coming? Oh, damn it. He gave Mary a weak smile and moved to follow after Sherlock. Tonight was not going as expected already. He prayed nothing worse would come of this.

/

The ballroom was crowded as anticipated for a party held by law enforcement hoping to raise money for their crime fighting methods. The necessary reporters flocked about the dance floor, searching for a personal spin to put on the big event. Some of them were suitably dressed for the occasion, others hadn't bothered to try and mix with the crowd of attendants. John and Mary wore their masks, completing their costumes proudly. Sherlock didn't try to act like he belonged.

The man spent his time trailing him and Mary, not uttering a word, yet speaking infinitely with his eyes. He wasn't going to let up on John all night and would be involved in the chat with Irene Adler. It wasn't ideal but he could accept his attendance. Especially since Adler was infamous for her secrets and tricks. Who better to get a read on her motives than the singular man to have beaten her in the past?

He spotted Lestrade accompanying his estranged wife and started over to say hello. He altered his destination, tugging Mary along gently behind him, when the chief superintendent appeared in close radius to his friend. Plenty of time had passed since the night he right hooked the man for insulting Sherlock, but forgiveness apparently wasn't in his nature. Of course, John never got around to apologizing for bloodying up his nose. He hadn't felt the man deserved the apology.

In his determination to avoid the superintendent, he accidentally bumped into another high positioned member of the police he vaguely recognized. In his thirties, close-shaven, reddish-brown hair, a bit of facial growth, and a strong sense about him. This was Elijah Marcus. He was chief inspector at the same station Lestrade worked out of and held quite a name for himself while still relatively young.

"Omph! Sorry. Excuse me."

"It's perfectly alright," the man said, turning around to look at John. His face twisted up in a contemplative stare. "Do I know you from somewhere? What's your name?"

"Oh!" John remembered the mask he was wearing and pulled it off. "John Watson."

As he did that, he glanced backward and found Sherlock had wandered off. That was surprising and also wasn't in the slightest. The man in front of him responded to his name.

"John Watson. Watson. You're the Dr. John Watson. You work cases with Sherlock Holmes."

"Err, yes. That's right. That's me."

"It's truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Eli Marcus. This is my friend, Detective Inspector Jack Grant. He works in the firearms and narcotics department under my supervision. He follows your work much more closely than I do. He's a fan."

Detective Inspector Jack Grant didn't look like a fan. The man who had been conferring with Marcus before John bumped into them was staring, unsmiling. He looked to be his age. Wearing that mask of his did not help him seem any less insulted John was talking to them. Time to make an exit.

"Nice to meet you." He remembered who stood beside him. "This is my date, Mary, and we should really be moving on. We're meeting someone."

The detective inspector did not indicate he heard him, taking another sip of his drink and continuing to stare. Maybe he was sore about the fact Sherlock solved many of their cases. Maybe he was just an arse. Whatever the reason, Eli didn't appear to notice the behavior.

"You're the guy who thumped the chief superintendent. Brilliant. Always wanted to do that myself. You're a brave man, Dr. Watson."

He forced out a small laugh. "Uh, yeah, that's me. I do apologize but I see someone I know. Enjoy the party."

"Oh I shall," Marcus replied with a smile and a small wave goodbye.

John moved past the two policemen, Mary in hand, and walked through the crowded floor to meet a man he had not anticipated would be here. James Moriarty, perfectly dressed and groomed as always when in public, mask and all. Subconsciously, his grip tightened around Mary's slender hand. She sensed the tension and shifted toward him as they walked.

"Is everything okay?"

He was honest. "I'm not sure."

Moriarty spotted him a couple of seconds before he would have reached him and walked away. John frowned, wondering what he was up to. He followed, rounding a corner into a hallway empty aside from one man and it was not Jim.

There was a gun in his face. He hated when there was a gun in his face. Mary shrieked and instinctively he placed his body between her and the weapon, glowering at Moran.

"What are you doing?"

He spoke flatly. "She can go."

"Moran. Where's Jim?"

"She can go. Last chance."

John grounded down on his teeth and reluctantly took Moran's advice. Get Mary out of danger. He lifted the hand he was holding and placed his other hand around hers to enclose it tight, hopefully being reassuring.

"Mary. You need to go back to the party. Find Sherlock."

"John, I'm not leaving you with this man."

"Go, Mary, please."

She didn't want to listen. She pulled her hand free of John's and glared at Moran. "You hurt him, you'll have me to deal with."

Moriarty's right hand man watched her leave and when she was out of sight, amusement showed on his face. "You know what? I believe her. You sure know how to pick them, Dr. Watson."

"I'm not interested in small talk, Sebastian. Where is he and what does he want? Back to playing his games, huh? I knew it."

"Oh did you?"

John turned to see Moriarty approaching minus the mask. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking smug. That wouldn't bode well for him. Apparently his plans meant nothing tonight if the criminal mastermind was in action.

"Moriarty. What do you want from Sherlock this time?"

"Actually, it's the other one who needs to be convinced."

"The-the other?" He was a little confused.

Moriarty's phone went off playing a song and he plucked it out of his pocket, smirking. "Ah, there he is now." He winked at John before answering. "Hello, Iceman."

Iceman. He knew the codename. Jim said it wasn't Sherlock he needed to convince but "the other one". Mycroft Holmes was on the other end of the line. Oh. John glanced at Moran still holding the gun on him and then back to Moriarty. He was a hostage. Well that took considerably longer to figure out than it should have.

"Stop talking," Moriarty said. "I will put a bullet in the Hound's kneecap if you don't. Ah, you understand who I mean. So you have been paying attention. Now, unless you want to deal with a deeply upset-"

He listened for a moment and his smile only expanded. "Very good. These are my terms. My name cleared by your people, and five," he glanced at John, "Make that ten million pounds."

"Ransom? Really, Jim?"

Moriarty pocketed the phone and stepped close to John, firmly gripping his chin. "I told you to stay away. You didn't and you made me care. It might not be clear where your heart lies but it is clear where his does."

John watched Moriarty's other hand skim along the edge of his suit jacket, rising to grip his tie. He let go of his chin and placed his hand flat on John's chest.

"Here. His heart is here. I promised I would burn the heart out of him if he interfered too much with my work. I didn't say anything about if you did."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think the money's for, Johnny? I'll be limiting the jobs I take since you're such a stickler for morality."

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."

"Smart of you. Because you and me, that was a ploy to take advantage of your goodness. A test of sorts. I got you to love me and you can't kill me anymore."

One moment it sounded like he was saying he liked John and the next moment he was revealing the whole thing was an act. Moriarty contradicting himself. He only ever did that when it was intentional. John was mad, either way, because this had to do with the rivalry between him and Sherlock. They could both of them be so infantile for men of their intelligence.

John allowed his irritation to shine through. "I don't love you. I told you, it was just sex. That's over now, in case you couldn't work that out."

The smile dropped from Moriarty's face. "Hurting you is hurting Sherlock."

John didn't have to pretend to be surprised when Jim hit him in the jaw. It hurt. He had a fleeting hope Jim Moriarty could change for the better. That was wishful thinking. He tried to see the good in everyone. His mistake.

The second blow dropped him to his knees and he put a hand over the cut he could feel above his left eye. When Moriarty moved to strike him a third time, his hands came up and locked onto his wrists. He twisted until the offending fists loosened. His opponent hesitated and he swept a leg out, knocking him to the floor. The cool metal of a gun touched the back of his neck. Right. Moran. No fair fight with these two. Moriarty always had a plan and a backup plan to the initial plan. Always.

Moran allowed him to get to his feet while Moriarty stayed where he was on the floor. His phone went off again. He looked at John and continued to look when he answered the call.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Virgin."

John perked up realizing Sherlock was the caller. He knew immediately it was a mistake as Moriarty's expression darkened seeing John's reaction. Listening to whatever Sherlock was saying, Moriarty peered past him to Moran. He turned toward the sniper, edging closer very slow, calculated.

Another few minutes passed with John moving ever nearer to the primary physical threat. Moriarty chatted away incessantly with Sherlock, though it was clear Sherlock wasn't getting much in with the other talking so much. He was just waiting for his chance to get out of this himself.

"It's done."

Moriarty smiled at his employee's words, the smile not reaching his eyes. "The east hallway. You know, I'm surprised you couldn't think properly enough to save your pet. Here you were thinking I swept John up and stole him far away, when really, we've merely been down the hall. You don't know me at all. Thank your brother for the funding. A man in my business has plenty of extra costs."

He ended the call and turned to where he knew Sherlock would arrive from. This whole thing had only taken maybe thirty minutes. He couldn't believe Mycroft agreed to Moriarty's terms. Was it because of what the criminal made his younger brother do the last time they squared off? It didn't matter. The bad guys shouldn't get to win.

John was close enough. He spun, knocking the gun out of Moran's hands, and spin kicked him back. The bigger man was caught off guard, giving John enough time to swipe the gun up from the ground. He pointed it to keep him at a distance. His gaze continuously moving from Moran to Moriarty, he spoke to the latter.

"You got your precious money. I'm going to leave now."

"Give me the gun and we'll go back to the party together, Johnny. Nice and public, where everyone will be safe."

He hesitated only a moment before handing the gun over. It was likely Moriarty had other gunmen nearby to do his bidding. If he wanted John kept, he was going to be. This was a willing offer for him to go free. John wasn't going to pass up such an offer. Moran walked off after his boss returned his gun to him, away from the party.

Moriarty continued to intensely stare. "Remember the time you said you owed me your life?"

John startled, answering without forethought. "Yes."

"We're even, John."

Before he could respond, Sherlock was there with Mary. They both of them looked slightly out of breath but Sherlock was doing his best to cover it up when he saw him and Moriarty standing in the hall. John tried to wipe the thin line of blood trailing from the small cut above his eye subtly, so Mary wouldn't see he'd been hurt. She ran to him, seeming not to notice the motion, but Sherlock did. Sherlock's piercing eyes were burning through him.

Holding Mary to his side, he watched Jim and Sherlock regard one another, clear animosity between them. His friend looked at him again. "Are you okay, John?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock."

"To the party, Johnny boy?" Moriarty asked leadingly, false smile intact.

Sherlock looked like he wanted to punch the man. John kind of wanted to, too. They settled for the slap Mary dealt him. It was shocking what she had done, but even as he pulled her away from the dangerous man, he couldn't hide the pleased smile that spread across his face. For once, Moriarty wasn't smiling. He looked annoyed at being slapped by the woman and his expression formed into a scowl when he led the way to the ballroom.

John held Mary's hand and fell into step beside Sherlock. He watched Moriarty's back as they followed him toward noise and people.

"Why did Mycroft do what he wanted? He shouldn't have done that."

The consulting detective's gaze shifted downward to him. "No amount of money is worth more than your life, John. And as Mycroft put it, clearing Moriarty's name is of little consequence as there is nothing tangible linking him to any of his crimes."

"Kidnapping me isn't tangible evidence?"

"James Moriarty is an enigma. Suppose we got all the evidence we could ever hope for to use against him? Do you think a man like him would see justice?"

"Still didn't have to give him all that money," he grumbled. They entered the bustle and music of the party.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

John and Sherlock turned as one, while Mary and Moriarty were slower to turn and see who was asking for the detective consultant. A tall man in a silver mask stood a yard away, among numerous couples laughing and chattering together. He wore a black cowboy hat that matched his black suit. The tie was the same silver as the mask.

"And Mr. James Moriarty. My, my, this is a treat."

A solid jawline layered in stubble, thin lips upturned into a small smile, and brown eyes. This was all John could make of the man wearing a mask and a hat. He didn't recognize him. Glancing in Sherlock's direction and then Moriarty's, it was apparent neither one of them knew the man. Moriarty appeared interested, Sherlock was suspicious, and John was busy looking at them.

What was wrong with him? It felt like he'd been asking himself that same question far too often during the past month. He just felt..distracted.

"The world as most know it, is an illusion. But you, you few, understand reality is chaos. People are fools who will lie constantly to themselves so they can live in ignorance."

Recognition dawned on Sherlock and Moriarty's faces while John took a bit longer to share in their understanding.

"There is far too much ignorance. I seek to make better men, pure of heart. You are men in a position to make people better, but you are drowning in your own faults."

"So you're him. The man I've been looking for."

"Looking for..?" John understood now. "You're the criminal we've been looking for. You're the man who calls himself the Professor." Full understanding hit him. "You nearly killed my sister!"

"Oh God..." Mary murmured in silent horror. She clutched John's arm more tightly.

He wanted to attack the man right then and there. He only stopped the impulse because he sensed Sherlock looking and saw the warning in his eyes. This man was a killer. A killer who escaped identification and apprehension by every agency searching for him. They didn't know if he was here alone or what kind of resources he might have at his disposal. They had to be smart.

As usual with these insane criminal types, he was ignored in favor of giving Sherlock the attention.

"I wanted to meet you personally. See what all the fuss was about. I mean, you failed to find me after all this time. I've been waiting. Not even Mr. Moriarty has successfully put a stop to my antics. I hear you've become rather irritated at my encroaching into the territory you perceive to be yours."

Sherlock eyed the masked man. "Why don't you identify yourself if you're so certain of your status above the rest of us?"

"A name is just that, a name. Haven't you been listening? You, Mr. Holmes, and you, Mr. Moriarty, are not like most people. The trouble is, you know it, and do nothing to benefit the world. You remain impure to live your lives for yourselves and only yourselves, ever searching for methods to fulfill your own needs."

"I don't like you," Moriarty stated.

His face was expressionless. That was often when he was at his most dangerous. His eyes were speaking, daring the man to make a move. Moriarty did like a challenge.

As though the consulting criminal had said nothing, the Professor finished his speech to the two geniuses on John's right. "Men like you destroy themselves."

"Did you just come here to be arrogant?" Mary questioned. "You're in a room full of police. What's to stop them from arresting you?"

John looked at her and back at the agreeably arrogant man, fearful there would be some sort of repercussion for speaking her mind. The man did what he'd done to John, ignoring her as if she never spoke. In fact, he was smiling, his gaze sweeping between Moriarty and Sherlock.

"This visit was suitably entertaining. I've been keeping my eye on you, very closely. The devil, trying to play at being a man." His eyes moved off of Moriarty to Sherlock. "The man, trying to play at being an angel."

Then surprisingly his eyes settled on John for the first time. "And of course, the doctor here, an angel trying to play at being a man."

A scream tore through the room, originating from the middle somewhere. An explosion came from the second floor balcony and it sent everybody running, chaos abound. Like typical people in a panic, they fled every which way, no real sense to where they were going because they didn't know where to go.

As expected, when they brought their attention level to where the Professor had been standing, he was gone. A second look around informed Moriarty also made his escape. This whole night went to hell and had become entirely ridiculous. John reacted to it all.

"Damn it, Sherlock. We had him."

Sherlock glanced down at his mobile. "My brother must be indulging in sweets again. His response time has slowed considerably."

By the time he turned to express puzzlement, it was cleared up by the appearance of Mycroft and two of his suits. He strolled in the front entrance casually amid the frightened civilians and pissed off cops attempting to get a handle on the situation. He halted promptly before them.

"Miss Morstan," he greeted with a slight nod. "I trust the events of tonight have not been too traumatic?"

Mary impressed John by looking the man in the eye and shaking her head at him. "You're Sherlock's older brother. You work for the government and are supposed to be some kind of genius. This should not have happened. Criminals are running about London at will, doing as they please, spreading terror. I'll stay living in Cardiff, thank you very much. Do your job."

She strode away to the exit. He was definitely impressed. Watching her go, he was horrified when Mycroft informed them that his arrival was delayed because he was dealing with multiple assassinations of high ranking persons around the world.

"Connected to Moriarty?"

He confirmed. "Five people were killed and it's probable they were important members of Moriarty's widespread criminal web. Eliminated by the spider."

Why would Moriarty kill five of his own people? How did Mycroft know so much in such a short amount of time? It was scary.

"I am sick of this. I'm so tired of-just-ugh. Find your own way home, Sherlock. I'll be staying with Mary tonight."

He jogged out the front door, a uniformed police constable attempting to stop him with protests of his witness status. He refused him and with so many people moving around, the man gave up and let him go. John thought on how Irene stood him up or abandoned the meet with everything happening. This night was a disaster.

/

Sherlock's shoulders hunched a bit. "I'm losing him, Mycroft."

"Perhaps you already have. You certainly aren't doing much to help your cause."

The death glare he shot his brother shut him up about John. It didn't shut him up entirely though.

"I believe I have a lead on Joh- His case. An unidentified woman boarded a plane approximately ten minutes ago. We believe she is the person he was going to meet here in regards to the police corruption. You know, the informant you didn't bother to tell me about and the meet you didn't bother sharing. We're going after her. We're going to find the ones who tried to kill him so it can't happen again. I'm sure you find that agreeable. Pack your bags. We leave tomorrow. That will give me time to deal with these assassinations."

"Putting on weight, Mycroft?"

He sighed. "Tomorrow, Sherlock. I'll pick you up at 0600."