TheDarkestShinobi: Enjoy!

Start:

"We're recovered Jesse." He heard Dessler's voice through the car radio. "If we hadn't got here sooner they would have killed him."

"There was only one when we got here, he's in custody; little worse for wear but breathing." John pulled the radio to his lips.

"Mr. Green is stabilized and in transport to the hospital. There are two bodies in the main lobby of the museum behind the podium." Thank goodness it had been closed for the speech. Still John frowned, that left one.

"I'll take care of the bodies." Peter chimed in and John told them all to report back to him when done.

Rob turned the wheel to follow the ambulance when Jason spoke up.

"How did you know?"

"Know what?" John turned slightly in his seat to look into the back.

"That Jesse was out of it," John let out a breath

"I didn't." He was used to the war, where someone's non response could be taken as a casualty, "but I made a call. There are few reasons a commanding officer stops talking to his team."

…

He stroked her black hair as he spoke to her, she stopped trembling a while ago and he knew she wasn't scared anymore. If anything she was angry. He could not understand why, he was delivering her to God. "Even I can see you are one of God's favorites. You should have no problem with that." He caressed her dark face after tucking a curl under her ear. It freed itself immediately after and he smiled. "You may not know this, but Jesus was also dark like you."

"You're a sick man!" She growled out as she jerked. Her breasts swayed from the motion and he had to be careful not to look at those dark tempting nipples. This woman was meant for more than he.

"Most of God's messengers were thought to be sick men as well." He responded instead as he grabbed the makeup bag he brought with him. By the end of it her face would be lighter than her body, but the tones would match once she was drained.

"You're not a messenger" she grit out "and you're not a prophet."

"No, I'm not" He agreed with a smile as he brought out the razor he would use to shave her to smoothness for her wedding night.

"So what are you?"

"His deliverer." She laughed then and he paused.

"You really do believe this," she shook her head in disbelief. "You're going to burn."

"Threatening me with hell, Danielle?" She shook her head.

"It's not a threat, it's a promise." She turned away from him. "I might not be able to stop you, but there is no way He'll let you get away with this."

"God is on my side, there is no way I can be stopped."

She was the most beautiful, if he were allowed to judge those he had delivered.

He wasn't.

…

"You saved my life." Alec started the conversation shortly after John sat down. His was in his more formal uniform, the medal form his service in Afghanistan standing out against the gray. His haircut yesterday just added to the look.

"Well," John let out a smile "I'm a doctor, hardly be useful if I couldn't." He laughed then and the other joined him.

"You had no weapon and killed those men in seconds." John's smile flattened as he readjusted himself on the chair. He gave a curt nod and smile that hid more of his lips than showed.

"Saw that then."

"Of course I saw that!" John didn't say anything to that and Alec let out a breath.

"They had lied to me; you're not a regular doctor."

"Uniform gave it away?" John gestured to it as Alec shook his head.

"No. You weren't afraid to die," He had whimpered and cried but John didn't even flinch "very skilled in hand to hand combat" deadly, what did it take; five seconds to dismantle them, "you were so calm when they held that gun to your head." There was another pause. "Afghanistan or Iraq."

John froze before realizing the voice wasn't Sherlock's. "Afghanistan," he answered, "what gave that away?"

You're tan but not tan above the wrist. You've been abroad but not sunbathing.

"It was a guess. Where else are we sending soldiers? What's with the look?" John looked down.

"Oh, uh, nothing; reminded me of an old friend." He shifted again and saw the apology in the others face.

"I'm sorry." It was an incorrect assumption, but John didn't correct him. Alec cleared his throat. "I wanted to thank you properly and in person."

"You're welcome."

"I'll always be a friend, John."

…

"You've found the fifth." Sherlock concludes as he opens the door for Lestrade to come in. "I figured he was acting quicker because he was against a clock."

"Sherlock?"

"The man you are looking for is named Alastair Kent, he was released from a mental hospital four years ago." Lestrade looked at the picture Sherlock handed him.

"How?"

"He was easy after I found her." Sherlock hopped of his chair and walked to the wall, where dozens of tacks held up a mess of information.

"Wilma Taylor."

"Who's she?" Lestrade sighed as he scanned the wall. Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh and hit the middle of the wall with his hand. "The connection!" he paused. "and number seven." He turned away. "and dying from breast cancer."

"Yvonne Wright is the sixth target, let me know when you find her." He stalked to the couch before wrapping his robe around himself and falling into it. He rested his feet on top of the armrest.

"Now get out, I've got a more pressing case to think about."

"Finally, silence." He moaned out as Lestrade closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath and let his mind palace build itself. Now he would be able to focus on the problem that had been haunting him.

John.

He snapped out of his mind palace with a loud groan of annoyance. He needed to focus. He needed…

Sherlock pulled up his sleeve as he slapped on a nicotine patch. But it wasn't enough; this was a two patch problem. He paced. A three patch problem. He closed his eyes as his palace began to settle, he knocked ideas away before sighing. A four patch problem.

John knew he was leaving.

That much was obvious, from the speed of the text and the contents. Goodbye. It wasn't an accidental overdose. Couldn't be, John was also in the medical profession, he would know what it was like, and even if he didn't he would know the symptoms to look out for. Obvious. It wouldn't be a purposeful overdose. John had eaten that night, based on the contents of his stomach. It was a cheap canned dinner as well. If he was planning it he would have eaten nothing to make it easier for his body to succumb or a lavish meal as his last. John only ate canned goods in an extreme rush.

It was an overdose medically, but John didn't have an overdose.

If someone wanted to kill John there were more efficient and for sure ways. Guns, knives, blunt objects. So this was done to send a message, but there was no message. He sorted through the drugs looking for anything, then to the date. His hands were blurs as they discarded idea after idea.

The only thing that was let was the image of the body they claimed to be John's, but it couldn't be John's because John wasn't dead. It was a body. It couldn't be John's body.

Yes. That's what John's message was for. Sherlock's eyes opened wide. John was telling him he was leaving and not by choice. Someone convinced him to leave, more likely forced, but who-

And once again all the answers pointed towards Moriarty. He had thought he was jumping to conclusion before but he was right. Sherlock smirked wickedly and closed his eyes again. It was time to find Moriarty.

End

Truthfully, I wish I could have done the 'revelation' a bit better, but it's done. Thoughts?