Got My Eye on You

A post-Episode Three story arc. Here be spoilers for The Empty Hearse

Chapter 71 The Good Man -Part Two


Once Sherlock escaped from Greg's embrace, he stepped away, putting some distance between him and all that emotion. The DI grinned.

"It's better than me giving you a fat lip like John did."

"Marginally." The younger man shifted his coat back into place.

A slightly awkward silence fell. Now Sherlock's eyes wouldn't meet Greg's. Some things don't change.

Greg broke the silence. "Where you off to next?"

"Baker Street." The shrug said it all.

"Oh, no you don't. Not at this hour. I'm assuming you haven't told Mrs Hudson yet."

"Nope."

"Then there is no way I'm letting you scare an old lady half to death by just turning up on the doorstep in the middle of the night- or creeping in and making her think she's got a burglar." He dragged his car keys out of his pocket and turned to his aged Audi. "You're mine tonight. Show up there tomorrow morning, when the poor dear has a chance to be awake and functional. You'll sleep on my sofa. It's not like you haven't done that before."

"I don't sleep much these days."

"So, what's new? You can stare at my ceiling and be warm." He opened the passenger side door and gestured inside. "Get in."

Sherlock didn't move. "I've been perfectly fine on my own for the past two years, Lestrade. I don't need you to 'look after me'." There was a prickly undertone in his voice.

"This isn't about you, sunshine. It's about me. And you owe me one, for keeping me in the dark about this for so long." When that didn't seem to make a difference to the look on Sherlock's face, Greg added as he got into the driver's side, "Besides, you know you're dying to tell me how you actually pulled it off."

That earned him a smirk. And Sherlock did get in the car.

oOo

"I'm not hungry."

So that hasn't changed either. "But I am, so you're going to keep me company."

"Why would I do that?" It was said idly, with an air of disinterest.

"Because that coat can't disguise the fact that you've lost weight again."

"It's none of your business."

"Yes it is." He put the plate of penne in front of Sherlock. The pasta had tomato sauce and black olives, and Greg knew from previous experience that it was one of the few things that Sherlock would choose if he could be bothered to eat.

Sherlock looked at his steaming plate, as Greg sat down at the kitchen table and tucked into his own food. For a moment, Greg focused on the taste and closed his eyes in pleasure. He'd missed dinner, due to the Whitechapel case, and was hungry. Through his peripheral vision, he watched Sherlock fold his arms across his chest and lean back from the table.

Greg chose not to respond to the non-verbal challenge, taking a swig from the beer bottle he'd opened for himself. Once he'd swallowed, he just said quietly, "Because if you want to resume working cases, you need to prove to me that you're up to it."

Sherlock huffed. "I've spent two years without this kind of irritating behaviour."

"Yeah, but you're back on my patch now, and I get to set a few rules. Besides, I'm going to take one hell of a leap here, but my guess is that whatever you got up to while you were gone, it wasn't half as much fun as solving cases. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come back."

Sherlock was now looking at the pasta, suspiciously. "Good deduction."

"Was it boring?" It was an invitation, somewhat peripheral, but he knew Sherlock would know what Greg wanted, no needed, to know.

Sherlock decided that picking up a fork and playing with the pasta was a useful diversion. It bought him some time to decide what to say. He took an experimental bite of a single piece of pasta. "yes…and no."

"Well, that's just illuminating, isn't it?" Greg tried to keep his tone light, but the sarcasm was still there.

Sherlock snorted. "But true. It was boring, in that no one aspect of taking down Moriarty's network required that much brain power, just…determination. Intelligence work doesn't really take that much intelligence; it's more about tradecraft. But it was relentless, so not 'boring'. Never a dull moment, but never a really brilliant one either. After the basic approach was proven to work, it was just a case of making it happen, again and again. Tedious. Different nuances, different tactics, occasional surprises, nothing I couldn't handle. But...rather predictable in the end."

"So, why'd you stick with it?"

"Because if I'd tried to return before the work was done, then the remnants of the network would have fulfilled Moriarty's contingency plans. The ones he put in place to ensure that no one ever tackled him. He killed himself in front of me to make sure that the plans would kick into effect, thereby forcing me…to take the steps I did. Think of it as a scoreless draw."

Greg swallowed. "Moriarty committed suicide?"

Sherlock shot him a smug look. "You thought I killed him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't get more than a minute on the crime scene before I was hustled off the roof, so no snide comments about it 'being obvious to anyone with more than a single brain cell'. " He mimicked the tone perfectly.

The younger man glared at the sarcasm. "So, you assumed I committed suicide, did you?"

"Nope. That's just something I read in a newspaper somewhere."

"I went up on the roof with thirteen possible scenarios, but in the end it was the only one that had a chance of succeeding."

"So, you're too arrogant a sod to consider suicide, but jumping off a roof to fake a suicide? Yeah, I should have known; that's more your style." Greg decided that he'd save the thirteen possible scenarios for another day. "I'll get the details later." He smirked. "But you're not off the hook. I'll expect the full Monty- angles, charts, diagrams. I've tried for the last two years to figure out how you could have walked away. Never managed to put together a convincing method." He took another sip of beer. "But then I'm an idiot, as you so often tell me."

Before Sherlock could answer, Greg stood up. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a moment." He strode off down the corridor into the bedroom. The door was left open and he knew that Sherlock would be curious, as he rummaged around at the power socket to the left of his bedside table. He sat back down at the kitchen table before Sherlock had time to finish chewing his second forkful of pasta. "So, what did John have to say about your brilliant plan, whatever it was?"

"He didn't want to know how, just why; wouldn't listen long enough to find out my methods."

Greg looked at the grey green eyes that were now cast down at the kitchen table. Yeah, that must have hurt. No chance to show off how clever you are. "My guess is that you didn't answer that question, did you?"

"I told him the truth- it was the only way to stop Moriarty; that was the whole plan."

Greg snorted, trying not to choke on his beer. When he got his breathing back under control, he said quietly. "So, you didn't tell him the truth."

That earned him a fierce glare. "It was the truth!"

"But not the whole truth."

"How would you know?"

In reply, Greg reached in his pocket and pulled out a mobile phone- one which had not been used for just over two years. He tapped the screen with his finger to get it to come to life. "I put it on charge when we walked in; you'll need to give it the rest of the night to get it back up to full power."

It was Sherlock's phone. The younger man looked down at it as if seeing a ghost. Silence fell. Greg used the opportunity to eat another couple of mouthfuls of pasta.

"How did you get it?"

"Picked it up off the roof before Mycroft's minions arrived to take over. They didn't know I had it. Well, not at first. Your brother probably figured it out, but didn't say anything at the funeral, and we haven't had contact since."

That made Sherlock look up startled. "So, Mycroft never got the recording?" He sounded surprised.

"Would he really need it? You and he must have sorted things out ahead of time. It's not possible that he didn't know, approve of it and assist you."

Sherlock started to acknowledge that with a nod of his head, but then stopped. "Approve? Not exactly. He was reluctant at the start. I had to…make it difficult for him to refuse."

"How on earth did you do that?" Now it was Greg's turn to look incredulous.

"That would be telling a state secret, and I won't do that." Perhaps to deflect any further questioning on those lines, Sherlock leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and waving his fork at Lestrade. "If you knew, then why didn't you tell John?"

"Finish the pasta, and I might tell you." Greg stood up and took his empty plate over to the kitchen sink and started to wash up.

Once the dishes were away, he went back into the living room to find Sherlock sitting on the sofa going through the contents of his phone while it charged. He'd used the socket beside the sofa, unplugging the lamp, so the room was half in darkness.

"I've only got decaff; do you want one?

"I don't suppose you have any green tea?"

Greg looked askance.

Sherlock shrugged. "I acquired a taste for it while in Tibet."

"No, Sherlock. I don't have any green tea; this isn't a Hollywood hotel." He paused. "What were you doing in Tibet?"

"I went there to recover from a nasty infection. Thought I could learn a bit of Tibetan martial art along the way; think of it as physical therapy."

The thought startled Greg. And made him realise that Sherlock's casual brushing aside of what he'd gotten up to while in pursuit of Moriarty's people covered a multitude of sins. He realised, too, that Sherlock was watching him, deducing his thinking through the likely consequences of a two year one man campaign against a criminal network. Before he could voice the questions that were forming like gathering thunderclouds in his mind, Sherlock cut him off.

"John. You were going to tell me why you didn't share the contents of the phone with him."

That side-tracked Lestrade. "You have no idea, really, what watching you jump did to John?"

Sherlock's face went still, utterly unreadable, his eyes almost hooded. "No. I'm a sociopath, remember? Empathy is not my area."

"Well, I'll tell you, shall I?" Greg decided that Sherlock needed to be told. If John's reaction was to punch him, then he probably didn't get around to a coherent explanation. And, unlike John, Greg knew that the problem was partially that Sherlock did not really understand what he had put his friend through.

"You made him watch…"

Before Greg could finish the sentence, Sherlock butted in. "No, I didn't. That happened by accident. He was supposed to be 3.5 miles away in Baker Street, looking after Mrs Hudson. He was supposed to be safe or at least safer there from the clutches of Moriarty. Baker Street was being watched by Mycroft's men. I always knew he would be a target. Moriarty had made that plain since the pool."

Greg took that in, but carried on. "Maybe, but he got back to Bart's, and he had to watch. And to listen to that stupid 'note' of yours. What were you doing? It made no sense."

Sherlock sighed. "Not to you. It wasn't meant for you. It was meant for the people who were listening in. Embedded code. I had to assume that Moriarty's people were listening, via his phone as well as watching. Mycroft certainly was listening to my call to John, and relaying the important stuff to the rest of the team. The words- 'apology', 'invent' and' fake'- all relayed something important to the homeless team about how to put the plan into motion. 'Magic trick' meant that Moriarty was no longer in the picture- he wasn't watching me. I mean, there was no point in inflating an air bag under where I was about to jump, if Moriarty was looking over my shoulder and would see it."

Greg sat back in his chair. He hadn't thought of that.

Sherlock nodded. "Thirteen scenarios, Lestrade, where I had a chance to walk away alive; I had to plan for anything."

The DI looked puzzled. "So, what would have happened if John wasn't there?"

Sherlock laughed. "It's a phone, Lestrade. He didn't need to be there. In fact, I wanted him as far away from me as possible. All he had to do was pick up. And even if he didn't, Mycroft would have."

Greg groaned. "Okay; that's me being an idiot."

Sherlock nodded. "You can guess the rest. When I told John that he could tell you, Mrs Hudson and Molly that I 'created Moriarty', I was telling my brother that you were being targeted. I hoped that he would have overheard Moriarty's threats to me, but the phone had been in my pocket then and I had to be sure, which meant using the phone call to John."

Lestrade leaned forward in his chair. Sherlock was perched on the sofa, sitting up rather tensely instead of his usual slouched occupation of the whole of any piece of furniture. Greg noted the set of the younger man's shoulders, so took his time to frame the next question.

"Yeah, about that…why me? "

"Why do you think?"

"You tell me." It was like a tennis match, both men lobbing the question back over the net.

Sherlock sighed, and then gestured with an open hand. "You've known and worked with me longer than anyone else. I'm the junkie who keeps clean for the sake of the Work. You are the key to the Work. Kill you, and my world would shatter."

Greg didn't know how to answer. It was logical. And not in the least sentimental. If it had been, then Greg would know he was being spun a story. He'd learned the hard way over the years how Sherlock played people, him included. This was…honesty. He took a deep breath.

"Okay, but just who the hell was the assassin after me that Moriarty was talking about?"

"Remember Hanson? The PC who was seconded to the MIT, and then to Dimmock's team? He was stuck to you like glue on the day I jumped."

Shock spread over Lestrade's face. "Jeezus. HE was an assassin?"

Sherlock shrugged. "He was got at by Moriarty. A bent copper; a gambler. At first, it was just information. Then it became serious."

Lestrade was shaking his head. "No, I don't buy it; the guy has family- a wife, a couple of little kids."

"Yes, and Moriarty used that family. It was you, or them. That's what he did. Find a person's weak spot and use it against them. Just like he used John, and you and Mrs Hudson."

"Wait a minute. That phone call to John- you mentioned Molly. Did he plan to kill her, too?"

"It was a distinct possibility. She'd played a role earlier- Moriarty used her to get into the Bart's lab, to meet me and John. Only we didn't know who he was then. She didn't know who he was. If he was willing to target you, then he might have thought she should be 'tidied up' as a loose end. He didn't know that Molly was crucial to my plans, so I had to warn Mycroft to protect her. So, I added her to the list."

Greg sank back into his arm chair. "Whatever happened to Hanson?"

"I identified him before I left the country. He was interrogated by the security services. He cooperated, once he knew that Moriarty was dead. And he gave us a few leads about the UK operation. He never met the man himself; just an intermediary. We got a description, but the man had left the country on the night that I jumped."

"I remember only that he was transferred."

"He was, but not in the way you thought. He's now serving time in one Her Majesty's prisons. Should be out shortly. After all, he wasn't actually a murderer."

"So, that's the sort of thing you've been doing for the past two years? Cleaning up the mess that Moriarty left behind?"

"That makes it sound simple. It wasn't."

"No, I'm sure it wasn't." Greg tried to stifle the yawn. It was almost three thirty and he was feeling the effects of the long day, the shock of discovering Sherlock was alive, and the whole sequence of revelations that had followed. He needed to end this conversation while he still had his wits about him.

"Sherlock, you may not need to sleep, but I do. Before that, I need to tell you why I didn't let John anywhere near this phone. Because it may be the reason he threw that punch."

Sherlock gave a wry smile. "First he tried to throttle me, then he punched me. After that I got the head butt that gave me a nose bleed. He gets…physical... when he gets angry. Then he told me to fuck off."

Lestrade shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. You didn't expect that, did you? You see, he was devastated by your death. He kept going over it in his mind. He didn't think you were suicidal…"

"I wasn't."

Exasperated, Lestrade snapped back. "Yeah, he gets that NOW. That's what makes him so angry. He thought he was responsible. As a medical professional and your friend, he thought he should have seen what was coming and stopped you from taking your own life."

"I didn't."

Greg just glared at him. "Keep this up and I might clock you myself. John blamed himself- Christ, Sherlock, you don't get it, do you? We ALL did. I arrested you. I let those bastards push me into a corner and then did just what they wanted me to do. Don't you think I felt guilty? My God, even Anderson put on a hair shirt, once he realised that he got it so wrong."

"Well, he always was an idiot. I'm not surprised he'd get this wrong, too." Sherlock leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "None of you was responsible. If anyone is to blame, it's me- for trying to stop Moriarty, for being selfish enough to want to live through it. That's what kept me going. I had to finish this, make sure none of you would be the collateral damage that he wanted you to be."

"But, we did suffer. We did. You did, too."

A pair of grey green eyes locked onto Greg's. "We're alive, and he's dead. His network is broken. I think that's a victory. And I won't apologise for that. If people are going to hate me for it, well, I never professed to understand emotions. John's date tonight was right; I really don't understand 'human nature'. I thought maybe people wouldn't mind me coming back. Shows you how little I know. Good night, Lestrade."

Sherlock turned away and stretched out on the sofa, closing his eyes. The conversation was over. That was when Lestrade realised that Sherlock had been hurt just as much as those he had left behind.