Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A.N. This time John's point of view. Hope you have fun!
It's madness. Sheer madness. How Moriarty has managed to escape spending at least a handful of decades in jail, John cannot comprehend. Or, well, he has an idea of the means – something to do with snipers or bombs, no doubt – but still…are they that vulnerable? Is everyone in Britain under the criminal's thumb?
What he hates more, though, is Sherlock's nonchalant attitude. As if the madman wasn't obsessed with him. They need plans, they need routines to ensure everyone (Sherlock) is accounted for at all hours, in case they're kidnapped again, they need…They need to take this seriously.
Instead, the detective huffs, "Moriarty already got what he wanted. His publicity stunt is done, and now he can retire and reap the influx of new clients and their money. I'll be very surprised if we hear of him for a long time – not in such a flamboyant way, at least. He used me for his own gain, as distasteful as I find it. Why should he come after us? I would rather expect a gift basket, but I don't think even he would go that far."
It's not true, it cannot be true, John's whole experience and instincts rail against that. Of course, it seems that – once again – the sleuth's deductions are correct. Not about the gift basket, no. But, even if John spends three solid weeks being paranoid, never abandoning his gun, and – pathetically, he knows – trying to walk always in sight of a camera, so that if he's taken again Mycroft will know, nothing happens.
Finally, he realises that the hyper-vigilance is only wearing him down. And making him look like a fool to Sherlock, but that's not the reason he stops. Not at all. It might just be Moriarty's ploy – ignore them long enough that they will stop trusting their own perceptions after jumping at one too many shadow, and then destroy them. He'll just live his life as if nothing was wrong, and be ready for the next flashy display from the consulting criminal.
…John is an idiot. Just because his two experiences with Jim bloody Moriarty might as well been turned into Hollywood productions, he's forgotten that the man has a business running. A crime business, but still – not every one of his operations need be something you'd spot from a mile even half-blind.
He would deserve to be sniped off the street like a sitting duck. Instead, Mycroft (who really doesn't seem the type of the white knight) sweeps in before it can happen, only making him feel severely awkward in the process. Not that he doesn't deserve that. (On a side note, if the shadow British Government wasn't on his – well, Sherlock's – side – he would be terrified of the elder Holmes' powers. Heck, maybe he should be. What happens when Mycroft gets drunk?)
Being 'kidnapped' is nothing new, and at least Mycroft had the forethought of snatching him before he did any shopping and was carrying perishables. But a word of warning would have been nice. Not about what's happening in Baker Street, but about what expects him in the fucking club. He doesn't appreciate being made to feel invisible, ta very much. And he appreciates even less being carried away by sturdy, muffling overshoes-wearing attendants like a mentally disturbed patient in an old-time asylum. He would have shown a text on his phone or something if he was aware of the rule, and at least 3 old geezers wouldn't have risked apoplexy, given their reaction to his breach of the peace.
Mycroft's smirk confirms that it's all a power play. The bastard wants him to be put in line. To know he should just cave to any demand if he doesn't want…consequences. Well, you know what, Mycroft and his whole club can go fuck themselves. He gets enough frustration from dealing with his flatmate on a regular basis to let himself be intimidated by a handful of public servants and their goons.
Honestly, the whole ploy is ridiculous. As if John would ever need encouragement to have Sherlock's back. Couldn't Mycroft just send him a mail with the profiles of the people Moriarty posted in Baker Street? Link him the Sun's homepage, if he thinks that John might have missed it? He hasn't, of course, but that newspaper prints mostly garbage anyway. He's confident that all the reaction they'll need is "You take that seriously? What's wrong with you?" Besides, 'friend' or not, John's pretty sure that they will be able to prove that this Brooke dude is slandering Sherlock out of a personal grudge. The detective's prickly nature will finally prove useful. (He can't tell his…'mate' though, or he'll never hear the end of that.)
No, the media – for once – don't worry John at all. The four (four!) assassins are another story entirely. It looks like a quip, but he's serious when he proposes to move. If they're after Sherlock, at the very least they'll follow him and leave Mrs. Hudson alone. If they're not…Let's be honest, as much as it's in a nice central position, Baker Street doesn't have anything else that would require that level of firepower.
Finally Mycroft lets him go – John cannot protect his baby brother after all, if he's at Diogenes' club. Frankly, John still thinks the place is built on sheer insanity – though ensuring that politicians stay bloody quiet might not be an entirely bad idea considered what some of them will let slip on the media. Maybe it's a training camp?
Sherlock has taught him to be observant – well, not Holmes level, but definitely more than he was about random, health unrelated things. So when the envelope on their doorstep catches his eye, he doesn't act automatically, bringing it inside. No, he opens it on the spot. If there's anything dangerous, he'll be the only one affected.
Later on, when they finally have time to discuss things, the sleuth will rant at him, "What if it had antrax? What if it had another airborne toxin? You would rather affect a whole street, and possibly all Central London, than let me deal with it?" And he will shrug, and admit that he's an idiot. That should be old news by now, shouldn't it?
At the moment though, John honestly doesn't think of that; anthrax doesn't seem Jim's style, too pedestrian and – as the blogger proves – ultimately up to chance. That Moriarty is behind this is obvious because of the wax seal. Not that the…some sort of bird is particularly associated with him, but who the fuck sends anything sealed that way? John suspects that even royals of tiny nations send emails these days, and even when they don't, normal letters are the best option.
He lucks out, because instead of going for the especially clever, dangerous or creepy, Moriarty's love note seems to aim for the wacky. And yes, love note, because after what happened, John presumes that Jim's schemes are a very elaborate courting ritual, like the puffer fish' sand drawings. It's quite fitting that puffer fish is poisonous, really. The crumbles almost make him giggle. Did Moriarty want to send them a cookie but failed to account for the mishaps of delivery? Will some poor mailman get an official complaint from the consulting criminal?
He never gets to share his quip, though. Police has invaded their home (which is, really, an event more common than he would like it to be, however benign) and so John gets roped into a case before he even manages to wonder if they have enough for dinner. Never mind now anyway, because his highness will probably be skipping it, and after military rations, anything John can snatch between rushing here and there feels like a sybaritic indulgence anyway.
For once, there's a good reason to rush – kidnapping, and children to booth. While dead bodies will keep for half an hour if necessary – or even one – kidnappings are most often solved in the first day, with every subsequent one dropping the chance of finding the victim alive (or of finding it at all) dramatically.
And sure, this case might have dropped in their laps because of the media bustle that John had wanted to avoid in the first place, and working with Lestrade's team when it isn't even the inspector idea to call them in will surely be even more nightmarish than usual. John already shudders at the idea of how many ruffled feathers he'll have to try to placate. But Sherlock is the best, it's not media boasting, and everyone in the room knows. If Donovan and her colleagues cannot put aside their pride for the sake of kidnapped fucking children, maybe she should have picked another career.
…Oh my, he's not in the best mood to mollify anyone, is he? It's just that everything piled on him today. Well, never mind. Unlike someone, he can be professional and recognise priorities.
Unlike everyone, it seems. The professional bit, at least. Sherlock has his priorities very, very straight – and cheers to him for that. Still, knowingly traumatising a poor lady who's already seeing her career destroyed and possibly being sued into homelessness, if anything happens to the children she is responsible for before they're found, is a bit not good. Especially after being specifically warned by the inspector in charge not to. Then again, when has the sleuth ever listened to Lestrade?
John is half tempted to start apologising then and there, but the poor woman is being attended to already, and with how this case has started, it's definitely better to keep up with his madman. The last thing they need is another heir of some Lord or something needing a decade of therapy after meeting the consulting detective.
Thankfully, that fear is unfounded, because the kidnapped kids were the only ones still in the school. The cliché of rich absent parents spending the holidays on a cruise or partying, and leaving their children stranded in someone else's care, is not as true as John suspected. He wonders if the ambassador feels at least a bit guilty about leaving his here.
Also, dammit, this is not the time or place for it, but when Sherlock is in his element he is a sight. He flits here and there, observing all kinds of things that John wouldn't even start to think were clues, and reminds him of a cross between a bloodhound (stale comparison for a detective, yes, but damn well appropriate) and a hummingbird. Which, honestly, would be one of the weirdest mythical animals out there.
And yes, yes, John has just been ranting about his own professionalism, but having followed Sherlock there's no one to heal and no need for a medical consultation yet…or, if they're lucky, ever. The difference is that he keeps his internal commentary internal.
Besides, he misses everything of importance anyway. Because seriously, books? He would have never given them a thought. Even if the kidnapper(s? who knows? How lax are the safety measures here, exactly, despite the fucking insane fees?) hid for a while, they were unlikely to have brought a favourite book to pass the time, or handle it without gloves). And who cares about a kid's reading interests? It's not like the captor is going to stand in line for a favourite book who's about to be released, either.
Frankly, he's just as bad as Anderson – only with the difference that he knows when to shut up and stand in awe, and when blurt the compliments the consulting detective so richly deserves. Though really, he should invite Anderson – and maybe Donovan, but especially Anderson – to the pub someday, because if they weren't such assholes, he would have never set foot on a crime scene, what with the forensic squad being much better equipped than he could ever hope to be.
What surprises him is not Sherlock producing footprints almost out of thin air (at least one of their victims is clever – there's hope for the future), but the way the detective indulges in his explanation. It's a couple of minutes, of course – but not the usual rapid-fire of data and deductions. For once, his…okay, no, Sherlock, actually recreates not just the crime scene for them, but the atmosphere of that night. And it's fucking brilliant.
Suddenly John understands all the spite the other man heaped on his blog, though he cannot for the life of him figure out why all his gripes were about exactly the wrong thing. The problem is not that the blog is not cold and clinical enough. The problem is that his style is not half as good as what Sherlock could write, if he only wanted to and didn't publish the driest studies known to man instead. Maybe he will ask for some pointers the next time he writes.
Really, if only Sherlock had some restraint, he wouldn't just be the media's latest fad, but easily the founder of a cult. It's far too easy to be dazzled by him, so he wouldn't have a hard time finding followers if he wanted. Of course, there's the little detail that he loves his job, no matter what's needed to accomplish it, just as much as putting idiots in their place…and the combined glee is a bit too transparent for the world not to be spooked. Well, that's why he has John, isn't it? To remind him that, no matter how clever the solution, until the missing children have been found enthusiasm might be not exactly proper. No matter how much John himself shares the high of the chase. They're as bad as each other, really.
Samples collected, and they're on their way back to London. Sans Scotland Yard thank God, because the last thing they need is more judgement, snark or doubts. If Sherlock had enough data to sort in his mind palace, he would be quiet. But as it is, John allows himself to discuss the case – the one point that keeps baffling him. How can the security have failed so humiliatingly? He's done his share of watches, without even the help of so many CCTV, and he could see any enemy trying to infiltrate long before they were able to attempt anything. And if he hadn't, his officer would chewed him a new one, if he lived to get it. How did the kidnapper get away with it?
Sherlock's reminder that the college is not an army camp, and that all kind of people are allowed in – relatives, suppliers, personnel, with someone claiming to be staff's substitute after taking them out – is a shock. True, the point is not to keep people out, but to make sure they leave back. The detective has a point - tracking everyone is indeed more troublesome than simple watch duty. And with the level of relatives these kids have, instituting an 'everyone entering should wear a tracking bracelet like criminals' policy wouldn't go over well. John pities the college owner even more, now. At least she won't have to worry much longer. The world's only consulting detective is on the case.
The cabbie is encouraged by an extra to rush, and they're at Bart's before John would have thought possible. And immediately, his list of people he'll have to apologise to on behalf of the sleuth (maybe he should send some flowers?) gets longer. Poor Molly doesn't deserve having to deal with Sherlock after her shift. She doesn't deserve being walked all over, like an old threadbare mat. She doesn't deserve to have a lunch date (John is pretty sure she stopped breathing for a second) only to be tossed a packet of crisps. A tiny one. She doesn't deserve to be blamed for her ex-boyfriend's plans – and here John was, hoping so bad that since none of their new neighbours was involved they'd be safe from Moriarty's influence. He's an idiot. (Nothing new.)
Fact is, Molly has never and, he suspects, will never be able to say no to Sherlock to her dying day. John gets it – Christ how he does, the man gets him to agree to madness on a regular basis – but he developed that skill out of sheer necessity. They'd be all dead if Sherlock went unchecked. His…mate too, and that's what fuels the steel core inside John to scold and deny and put his foot down every now and then.
John hopes that Molly will find her own soulmate soon. That might be the only thing that finally makes her grow a backbone. At least if she has the right one. If she's lucky, her name isn't something obvious like Mark or…oh my God, he hopes her name isn't James. It's bad enough that she dated Moriarty. If she thought that he was her soulmate…John has no idea how he would have reacted to that. Maybe she's stronger than he credits her for. He chastises himself quietly. She's a friend, and he has taken her Sherlock-shaped weakness for general weakness of character. That's a bit not good. This time, his own apologies will be implied with the ones for Sherlock's behaviour. Implied because, hopefully, she doesn't realise that he misjudged her. Being quiet does have its advantages.
Fact is, there is nothing to do now but sit and think, waiting for the samples' results. Distracting Sherlock now, even talking about the case, is not on – he won't form opinions without data, and the data he knows he needs are about to arrive. Talking about anything else (the shopping they need, the last episode of Doctor Who) well, that would be even worse in taste than the consulting detective's own blunders. But John does not do well when left alone to brood.
Heck, that's why he picked the army – no time ever to sit down and twiddle his thumbs, he'd thought. Turned out he was vastly wrong, but not even Sholto managed to get him to be both alert (because the enemy, or their results, can come at any time) and – at the same time – mentally settled. His Major managed to get him to pretend to be, though. His inability to half-switch off unsettled the others too, and the last thing he wanted – wants, for Sherlock just as for his men – is to be an hindrance to their common mission.
His problem is – when left to himself, no one to fixate on (which is why he has taken so well to Sherlock possibly; you know, beside…that), John tends to mull over everything that's wrong and that has been wrong with his life all along. And it turns out that somehow he's always proven himself lacking. He's pretty sure that Ella would disagree, maybe offer some pills for that, but as Mycroft said Ella is rubbish at her job anyway.
No, he's not going to do that this time. Old game, and not one he likes. Besides, he has enough going in his life to think about…No, not that. Not that either. Fuck no, very much. Moriarty! Yeah, Moriarty is a good subject to skewer. Keep his mind on the case. Why this case? Sherlock says that this is Moriarty, again. Mycroft says Moriarty sent at least four assassins to their street. He has learned not to doubt either Holmes siblings, as much as he'd like to – spare himself the eventual, "You weren't just wrong, you're an idiot because you were told and still dared to question it." Not that either brother ever told him in so many words, but John is not the only one who can make himself be understood with nothing more than a crinkle of an eyebrow or a tilt of the mouth if need be.
He feels extra stupid now, because he'd actually been thrilled about this case because – they'd be outside. Away from Baker Street and its dangers. It still feels utterly wrong to even think such a sentence, but after Mycroft's revelation, what other option has he?
Now, Jim bloody Moriarty thrives on overcomplicated, flashy plans, that's known. Really, after his trial it's known to all the British population at the very least. Still, why start things on two fronts? Sherlock cannot even appreciate the murderous neighbours, because he's distracted by the case. Which might be for the best, because oh God, he'd probably organise a tea to welcome everyone and insist on trying to interrogate them on the best way to get rid of a human body or something… Maybe there's a reason Mycroft told him instead of just texting his brother.
The strategist in John wants to sneer at his own doubts – wondering why anyone would arrange for attack on two fronts means being more than a little blind. And if Moriarty was indeed hell-bent on getting rid of them, he wouldn't wonder, just adjust accordingly. Possibly request extra men from Mycroft, too – though he'd need to do so in secret to avoid Sherlock undoubtedly pitching a royal fit.
But despite all the bombs and dead sweet old ladies and various crime, and despite being obviously dangerous like a rabid bat and damned clever, Jim Moriarty doesn't give off the vibe of an enemy general. Possibly because the madman wouldn't last two hours in the same room as any of his commanding officer before someone (okay, most probably everyone) literally lost his mind.
The consulting criminal enjoyed playing puppet master way too much (John still has the nightmares to go with it), and if John had to pick a legitimate career for him, he'd definitely suggest the man switch to movie director. And with all the trouble Moriarty must have been through to organize all that, going unnoticed by his intended public should be disappointing. The blogger doesn't think that the criminal is really suited to deal with disappointment and frustration. That's why the double display doesn't make sense to him.
Unless…he's aiming for a double public? Like these people playing five chess games at once, keeping busy Sherlock with one hand and taunting Mycroft with the other? Nah, can't be, he's met the madman not much longer than Sherlock himself has and the bastard has already made a nice nest inside his mind, and been upgraded to Bond villain level. Fuck it. Fuck Moriarty. They'll solve this case, and then, if any of the neighbours try coming around to ask for a cup of sugar, they'll find themselves served a handful of lead instead. Bless the unofficial British government for waving away the odd murder John needs to keep baby brother alive. …Uh, that sounded really not good, did it?
Even when he's trying to behave, and somehow manages not to mope, he ends up being a lunatic instead. He isn't sure that anyone else would consider it a progress. Fuck, when is this stupid analysis going to be finished? He needs someone to shoot at. Or at the very least to be able to move, and speak, and do anything else but sit and wait.
The kidnapped children need them to bloody move, too but – that's unfair. He does know that Sherlock will solve this much quicker than anyone else would be able to, once he has a clue at least. Just – it would be so convenient if they were in a movie, where results always ping instantaneously instead of having to let chemical reactions and organic processes run their course for as long as they need to. Surely it's almost done?
Oh God, he's starting to sound like a child right now. He's disgusted with himself. …Aaaand they0ve come full circle. Even when he tries his hardest to stay away from negative thoughts, somehow he always ends up that way. Christ. No wonder that Sherlock ignores their actual relationship, if the obvious is indeed obvious. John would keep himself at arms' length too, if he had the chance.
Pity that there's no way to do that. Not unless he manages a dissociative fugue, at least, and he's not come so far yet to wish for it. Though if he'd never met Sherlock...then yeah, he's pretty sure he'd have passed that point long before now. And still, all the help he can give is wait and sit quietly. He knows he's been unfair to himself. Even as a good doctor, there's no way he can – that any human can – do the kind of analysis Sherlock needs at a glance. So why is he feeling useless right now?